


Gladiator

by Clea2011



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Violence, Decapitation, Dragons, Dungeon, Forced Marriage, Gladiators, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Slavery, Slaves, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-21 08:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 115,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21296327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clea2011/pseuds/Clea2011
Summary: When Cenred and his army of sorcerers conquer Camelot, Arthur loses everything. His home, his kingdom, his father, his sister… all are taken from him and he's forced to fight for his life for public entertainment. Thrown in with strangers, Arthur makes new friends and dangerous enemies. He knows he’s probably living on borrowed time but one man and a baby dragon just might make a difference - if he can survive his next fight.
Relationships: Balinor/Hunith (Merlin), Elena/Gwaine (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 134
Kudos: 392
Collections: After Camlann Big Bang, Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/gifts).
  * Inspired by [ART: Gladiator](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21189392) by [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72). 

> First of all please heed the warnings on this fic. Let me know if I am missing any warning tags.
> 
> There are many people to whom thanks are due:  
Firstly to my amazing, wonderful, patient artist LFB72, without whom there would be no story. I was dubious as to whether I could get it written as I was suffering from writers block earlier in the year. At the beginning of the summer she created the gorgeous header for the story, which I've had stuck up above my computer ever since. Obviously that needed to be seen by the world so here we are! She has done the most beautiful art for this fic. Go look at it and leave it lots of love!  
Secondly, to my two amazing betas, Tari_Sue and Camelittle, who took on this massive thing when it was somewhere around 68k and have been working on it daily. You two are utter stars.  
Finally to the mods who have been supremely patient with me and my failure to hit deadlines, and who very kindly held amnesty week open just a little longer (I think it might have turned into amnesty fortnight and I'm really sorry about that). I had no idea this would get so very long.

[ ](https://i.imgur.com/6v0Rw7M.jpg)

Arthur stood up on the ramparts of Camelot, leaning against the castle wall and gazing up at the night sky.

It was a clear night and there was a chill in the air. Spring had barely arrived. It would be months before the warmth of summer would be with them. For now Arthur pulled his cloak closely around himself, trying to stay warm.

If Camelot lasted until summer they would be doing amazingly well. There were few other kingdoms left. Most had already fallen to Essetir and were now under the rule of King Cenred. King Cenred and his army of magic users.

Camelot did not have any magic users in its army. King Uther Pendragon had outlawed magic use in his kingdom two decades earlier. He had thought it would make Camelot strong. Now, faced with an army that they had no defence against, Arthur could see that his father had made them weak.

It was the waiting that was the worst. Everyone knew that Cenred would come for them. The king of Essetir had made no secret of his ambitions. He intended to unite Albion under his sole rule. And he didn’t care how many innocent people he slaughtered to achieve that end.

Caerleon was the latest to fall. The king there had overthrown his predecessor and taken the throne by force himself, then arrogantly named the kingdom after himself. It was probably justice in some twisted way. Arthur hadn’t liked Caerleon but was sorry to hear that Cenred’s kingdom was growing. Nemeth and Gawant, both good friends of Camelot, had fallen a few months earlier. Rumour had it that Princess Elena of Gawant had managed to escape the slaughter somehow and was in hiding. The king, her father, had not been so lucky. But nobody knew where Elena had run to and Cenred had declared himself conqueror and king. As he always did. Princess Mithian of Nemeth had also escaped but was known to have reached one of the northern kingdoms and was being protected there. That didn’t stop Cenred declaring himself king of Nemeth and Gawant. And now he had Caerleon too.

They would come out of the dark, Cenred’s army. Arthur had heard the stories from people who fled other attacks. It would be calm and peaceful, and then from nowhere there would be a rain of sorcery beating down on the land, killing and maiming anyone in its path. Silent, like that night was. And then terror coming out of the dark.

A light footfall behind him roused him to the fact he was no longer alone. He straightened, and turned to find the lady Morgana approaching. She looked troubled, as well she might.

“Arthur.”

Morgana looked pale, and was shivering slightly in the cool air. She was never one to dress for the weather. Most likely she had thought the thin shawl she had wrapped around her would be enough protection high up on the castle. Ever the gentleman, he unclipped his own cloak and wrapped it around her.

“You’ll freeze up here,” he sighed. “Come on, back into the castle.”

She shook her head. “No. I want to stand out here awhile. We don’t have long, Arthur. I won’t hide away.”

Arthur could understand that. Morgana was brave and strong, she would fight alongside the knights if Uther allowed it. And she’d probably beat some of them too.

“Cenred could come at any time,” Arthur warned. “You should hide in the cellars, get ready to run.”

Morgana didn’t need to answer that, her expression said it all. She was no more likely to run than he was. She moved closer to him, taking the spot he’d just vacated and gazing out over the lands beyond the castle. Not that they could see much in the dark.

“Uther told me something tonight,” she said. “Something I didn’t want to know. Something I had to know.”

Morgana did like to speak in riddles sometimes.

“Are you going to tell me?”

She sighed. “If you really don’t know already then I should make him tell you. But we’re nearly at the end and I suppose there’s no time for petty revenge.”

“Nearly at the end… did you have another one of your dreams?” Arthur hated Morgana’s dreams. She woke up screaming, terrified from them time after time and they were getting worse. Their physician, Gaius, had been giving her stronger and stronger sleeping drafts but it didn’t seem to help. Morgana dreamt of Camelot falling. It was a recurring nightmare. “My lady, you should go back into the castle…”

“I’m not your lady,” Morgana snapped at him irritably. “I wish I was! I wish I was Uther’s ward and just ‘my lady’, nothing more! But I’m not! Oh, I’m just so angry with him Arthur! Why didn’t he tell me? Why _did_ he tell me? I’d rather not know!”

Arthur didn’t know what she was talking about and told her as much.

Morgana gave him a long, searching look. “You really don’t, do you?”

Arthur shook his head. “You’re talking in riddles.”

She gave a small, rueful smile. “Well, that’s something. My _little brother_ is just as ignorant as I was.”

Sometimes Morgana could be quite odd. This was looking as if it might be one of those times. Admittedly she felt like a sister to him as they’d grown up together in the same castle, Morgana being King Uther’s ward after her parents died. But they weren’t, not really. Yet Morgana had put such an odd turn on the phrase.

“You know I look upon you as a sister, Morgana,” he told her carefully. “In all but blood…”

“It’s blood,” she interrupted. “Blood, Arthur. Yours and mine. We share a father.”

Well that wasn’t right because Morgana was Gorlois’ daughter. “But…”

“Uther is my father too,” Morgana told him. “He had an affair with my mother before he met yours. I’m the result.”

For a moment he thought it might be a horrible joke. Morgana had a sense of humour that was wicked at the best of times. But he gazed at her pale face, the haunted look in her reddened eyes, and knew she meant what she said.

“Morgana…” He didn’t know what to say. A _sister_. Gods, his father – _their _father – had really outdone himself this time.

“Too horrified to speak, dear brother?” Morgana asked wryly but he could hear the bitterness in her voice. “I was as well. Just for a few moments, anyway. I expect Uther’s ears are still ringing. I hope they are.”

“I’m shocked,” Arthur admitted quickly. Whatever this was, it wasn’t Morgana’s fault. She was hurt, and he needed to reassure her. “But by him. Not you. Never you. This… you…” He considered for a moment, knowing it would be important to their future relationship that he handled this correctly now. “That’s… it’s good news. The part about us being brother and sister anyway. Honestly Morgana. I’ve never had a sibling.”

“It would appear you’ve had one all along, Arthur. And I’m older than you. Perhaps you should push me over the wall, make sure I don’t usurp you as heir!” There was a little challenge in her voice. Arthur knew when he was being tested. He wasn’t going to fail this one.

“You’ve just doubled the size of my family, Morgana. I swear I’ll always protect you and keep you safe, no matter what.”

She touched her hand gently on the side of his face and gazed into his eyes, giving a sad little smile at what she saw there. “I believe you would. I wish we had time, Arthur. But the end of Camelot is coming. I’ve seen it.”

“So it _was_ another bad dream?”

She dropped her hand to her side and turned away from him. “You know they’re not just dreams.”

Arthur suspected. But for them to be anything else was against all the laws of Camelot. Magic was banned. Magic was punishable by death. He wasn’t going to gain a sister only to lose her again.

“I don’t know what they are.”

“You do.”

Arthur did. He took her hand again, trying to reassure her. What she was went against everything he’d been brought up to believe. And yet what was the alternative? Would he have her killed for something that she didn’t seem to be able to help? Something that terrified her?

“Yes, I do,” he admitted. “But I also see how afraid you are of them. And for every time we’ve fought each other over the years, I have never, ever thought deep down that you are anything more than a good person. So this… _thing_ that you have, it can’t be bad, not in you. And if you’re my sister, if that’s really who you are then I swear I will always do everything that I can to keep you safe. I swear.”

“Oh Arthur! That means so much!” She flung her arms around him and hugged him so tightly that for a moment it was hard to breathe. Then she released him, and stared up at him, her face still worried. “Shall I tell you what I saw? What I told Uther and why he finally admitted to me who I was?”

It was a question Arthur had been wondering about. Why didn’t their father just continue in silence and keep his secret forever? It would have been the easier option for everyone.

“I’d woken up screaming, loud enough that he heard and came running. The times we live in, anyone screaming could be the first warning of an attack by Cenred and his sorcerers. It was just chance that Uther was in that area of the castle and heard me. I blurted it all out without thinking. I could see Camelot surrounded by a ring of fire. There was a dragon in the sky, burning everything. And then you were there, holding a sword aloft in the sunlight. There was blood on your chest. I don’t know where you were, it wasn’t here. And I was sitting with a crown on my head, watching you. I couldn’t move. And I was afraid. I can remember how very afraid I felt.”

“Of me?”

“No. _For_ you. I was terrified for you. I think you were going to die.”

Arthur shivered a little, not just from the cold up there on the ramparts. There was always something strange about Morgana’s dreams. They came true. She saw things.

“No need to be afraid for me,” Arthur assured her. “I’m a good swordsman. The best. But you had a crown? Why?”

“That was what convinced Uther to tell me. He warned me. Said I was at risk of being set up as a puppet ruler to legitimise Cenred’s claim on Camelot. Said that I needed to know the truth. He said he was _sorry_! Sorry, Arthur! Sorry that I’m his daughter!”

That sounded exactly like the sort of thing his… _their_ father would say. Never mind how it might sound, or what he might actually mean by it. Arthur briefly considered making excuses for him, but it sounded as if they were way beyond that stage. Because it really didn’t matter now, they were all going to be dead in a few months anyway. He’d rather Morgana didn’t hate him for that short time, and wasn’t going to give her any reason to. Instead of making excuses, he did what any good brother would do, and put a comforting arm around his sister, silently letting her know he was there for her. He felt her freeze for a moment, then relax and lean into him.

“I’m sorry he said that,” Arthur told her, and he really was. There were better ways to handle things. “And I’m glad you’re my sister. Couldn’t wish for a better one.”

That at least made her laugh a little. “Really? Really Arthur?”

“Maybe a little better, one less likely to argue with me. Perhaps someone less bright, less witty… Hmm. No, you’re right, this is terrible!”

Morgana smacked him on the arm. “You forgot able to best you in a fight!”

“In your dreams!” he teased, then too late realised what he’d said. “Ah… sorry.”

Morgana gave him a sad little smile. “I know. I’m sorry too. I hope you make it, Arthur, I really do. You’ll be a wonderful king.”

“Have you seen that in your dreams, too?”

“I don’t need to. I have eyes.” She stepped away from him a little, smiling ruefully. “Thank you, Arthur. You’re a little shit most of the time, but you’re kind when it matters. I’m a rival to your throne, potentially. And then there’s the… dreams. Some princes would have thrown me over the castle walls before anyone else knew about any of it.”

“I don’t think that’s something either of us will need to worry about once Cenred and his army get here,” Arthur pointed out. “Besides, that’s my favourite cloak and I don’t want it covered in blood. Come on,” he turned away from the wall and forced a smile. “Let’s go inside. We can find a jug of mead and drown our sorrows in it.”

“I’ll drink you under the table!”

“You can try!”

Arthur followed her back down into the castle, the two of them still arguing good-naturedly. It was a little forced, but Arthur knew they were both making an effort. And he at least was going to welcome the very unexpected newcomer into the family.

He’d speak to their father in the morning.

Merlin watched with only slight interest as the latest group of captives was herded through the gates and down into the cells below. He’d seen it all before. Too many of those men and women would be dead within days. By the end of the month there would probably be none left at all.

Merlin had lived in Essetir City for nearly five years. His home, his real home, was far away. A little village called Ealdor that was near the border with Camelot. His mother still lived there, or he hoped she did. It wouldn’t be safe for him to try to contact her. Having him so far away was the only thing keeping her alive.

Merlin had magic.

If you had magic in Essetir you were either working for the king or considered a traitor. Traitors had their magic bound. Those working for the king had to kill innocent people from other countries. It wasn’t much of a choice.

Cenred’s army of warlocks had conquered another kingdom. Caerleon this time. The news had spread through the city long before the first of the vanquished population arrived in Essetir. There would be fresh meat in the arena.

Absently Merlin rubbed at the cold iron bracelets that encircled his wrists. They had been in place for so long now that he barely thought about them. His days of freedom were far behind him.

Much like they were for the newest prisoners.

Merlin turned away, not wanting to look though he knew he would probably be called there later to deal with any who were injured during their journey to Essetir. He had work to do in the meantime and anyway it wasn’t as if there would be time to get to know many of them well.

There never was.

Uther Pendragon had been ruler of Camelot for nearly twenty-five years. He was a strong king, although not always a fair and just one. He had been particularly unfair when it came to the subject of sorcery, blaming it for the death of his beloved wife Ygraine.

Arthur had lost track of the number of people he’d seen executed in the courtyard over the years. Just the very suspicion of witchcraft could be enough as far as Uther was concerned. Arthur found it more than unpleasant, and in recent years had sometimes argued with his father where evidence had been scarce and the punishment had seemed overly harsh for the alleged crime. Rarely could Uther be persuaded that he was wrong.

To Arthur, a good death was one in battle, to fall defending your home and lands. Arthur himself would have been content to go out that way, after a long hard fight. Or failing that then dying in bed at a great age surrounded by loved ones wouldn’t be so bad either. Being executed in public, with no way to defend yourself and possibly to not even be guilty of what you were accused of… no, that didn’t sit well with Arthur at all. It wasn’t an end that he’d choose for anyone. When he was king he would make sure that everyone had a fair trial. And there would certainly be no killing of old women just because someone’s crops weren’t as plentiful as they might like.

First, though, Arthur would need to become king. And given the current political situation that was increasingly unlikely. As were either of his preferred ways to go out. When Cenred’s army arrived they would be harsh and swift. That was what had happened in all the other kingdoms that had been taken. And Camelot would be swifter than most. After all, they didn’t have any sorcerers to fight back with.

They were doomed.

That didn’t mean that Arthur wasn’t going to put up a fight though. However brief and hopeless it might be. But before that he had to face his father regarding Morgana. It wasn’t something that he had been looking forward to.

Uther was mostly in the throne room these days. It was the easiest place to receive the endless stream of messengers who arrived with news. Bad news. Uther said that being there gave his people hope, that he was visible and they would know that he hadn’t deserted them. In some ways he was still a good king.

“Good morning, Arthur.”

Uther, unsurprisingly, looked wary at his son’s approach. Arthur wondered whether he should pretend that he didn’t know yet, that Morgana hadn’t run to him the night before and cried on his shoulder. But games like that were for another time.

“Father. I can tell from your face that you’re wondering. Well, Morgana has told me.”

Uther’s wary expression deepened, if anything. “Arthur, I’m sorry. It was before I knew your mother. Morgana’s mother was very beautiful, a wonderful woman. You would have liked her very much.”

Arthur held up a hand. “I’m sure your good friend Gorlois liked her very much as well.”

“I…” Uther spluttered for a moment, obviously at a loss for words. “It was complicated. He was away at war. People have needs, Arthur. When you’re older you’ll understand.”

Arthur was one and twenty. He understood things perfectly well.

“I’m not here to argue with you, Father,” Arthur sighed. “What’s done is done. But why not tell us years ago? Morgana’s a beautiful woman and will be a fine queen if she ever has the chance. But what if you’d died suddenly and I’d decided she would be _my_ fine queen? That could have happened!”

“I think I know you well enough Arthur, that no woman will ever be your queen. You haven’t always been as discreet as you should.”

“Like father like son then,” Arthur snapped back angrily. Uther had a cheek trying to turn things around onto him. “But I might still have chosen her.”

“It didn’t happen, it doesn’t matter,” Uther told him. “And besides,” he added with a resigned air, “you might have married her but I suspect any children would have been the result of her later affairs with other nobles.”

It wasn’t very fair. They had argued over this many times in the past and Arthur thought that Uther had understood. Clearly Uther would never completely understand his son. Arthur had been quite willing to take a queen and give her the best life that he could. And if that had involved trying for heirs then so be it. He knew his duty. Unlike his father who really was pushing his luck.

“I’m not the one at fault here, _Father_. And you really should be trying to make amends to Morgana, not sitting in here arguing with me. Who knows how much more time we have? She’s distraught.”

“She’ll calm down. I’ve had the seamstresses work on a new dress for her, she’ll like that.”

If there was ever a woman less likely to be impressed by a piece of clothing it was Morgana. She liked dresses well enough, but certainly wouldn’t be appeased by the gift of one. Particularly over something like this.

“Good luck with that,” Arthur told him drily. “Remember to duck. She has your temper!” He wondered why he’d never noticed that before. Now that the truth was out, it seemed to be quite obvious. Morgana was very like their father.

“Yes.” Uther, ridiculously, looked rather proud at that. “She does. But to answer your question, Arthur, I had to tell her. There are a few people who know, her half-sister Morgause for one.”

“Morgause?”

“Gorlois’ actual daughter. She’s a sorceress, allied to Cenred. Morgana will survive the purge that is coming to Camelot, Arthur. Better that she heard the truth from me late than never at all. Perhaps she won’t always think of me with hatred in years to come. But she will be queen here, I am sure of it. Cenred will make her a puppet ruler.” Uther came down off the throne, beckoning to his son to come closer. When he spoke again it was in a lowered tone.

“There will be no place for you in Cenred’s kingdom, Arthur. When the time comes, when it all looks hopeless, I want you to do something for me.”

“Protect Morgana,” Arthur said confidently. “And I will. Of course I will.”

“No. What I am asking is far more difficult than that. Morgana will be safe, even under Cenred’s rule. He’ll marry her to one of his henchmen and set her up here. It’s what any sensible ruler would do. It’s what he’s done in other kingdoms. There can be no fight against a legal claim. But of course you are my son and heir, and will always be a threat to her.”

“I won’t harm her,” Arthur protested. “Even before I knew she was my sister you couldn’t ask me to do that. She is dear to me, even more so now. I never would!”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Uther told him. “As I said, it will be difficult.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “What exactly are you saying, Father?”

“We have no chance of defeating Cenred’s army. There won’t even be a battle. So, before they arrive I need you to leave. Save yourself.”

“Run away?” Arthur spat. “I would _never_!”

“I told you it was difficult. Call it a strategic withdrawal if you prefer. But leave. Hide out somewhere, bide your time. Sorcerers are evil, Arthur. They won’t all work together for long. Soon enough they’ll turn on Cenred or on each other and his empire will fall apart. And then you step in, the rightful king.”

“The cowardly king who ran away from the battle!” Arthur corrected. “I can’t do that. I won’t do that!”

“But you must do that, Arthur.”

That was a different voice, a gentler, more melodic voice.

“Morgana.”

She’d obviously come in quietly while they were talking. Her light, almost silent footfall was a useful gift to have. She would have made a fine hunter, Arthur thought.

“Your…_our_ father is right,” she told him. “Cenred will kill you if he gets the chance. But don’t leave me here to be a puppet queen and married to some awful man. I’ll run with you.”

“I won’t run at all!” Arthur glared at them both. “But I’ll help you,” he told Morgana. “I’ll make sure you get out. I promise you that.”

“Arthur!” Uther snapped. “Don’t be a fool. You can’t possibly hope to win against Cenred. He probably won’t set foot in Camelot himself until all resistance is quashed. I’m sure he’ll be here for the executions. Make sure mine is the only one. I’ll delay them, distract them while you escape. Make it the last thing you do for me, Arthur.”

“I won’t run!” Arthur insisted. It went against everything that he was. “I’d rather die.”

“I’m asking you as your father, Arthur. Leave. Go today, take Morgana if that’s what you both want. But go. Take a few loyal knights and a servant or two, enough that you stay a small party. Go in disguise. I’ll take two servants to stand in your place here. You’ll be long gone by the time the deception is noticed.”

“Arthur.” Morgana put a gentle hand on his arm. “If this wasn’t you, if this was another kingdom, wouldn’t you see the sense in it? Please. Cenred is a terrible man, a horrible king. People will need someone to believe in. They’ll follow you when the time comes. But you need to live.”

They’d probably follow Morgana just as well. She was fierce and beautiful and now she had the right of blood just as he did.

“I can’t.”

Uther’s frown deepened. “Then I am ordering you, as your king. Go!”

Arthur shook his head. “I won’t.”

“You will. Sir Leon has everything prepared. Keep him close, he’s a good man and will stay loyal to you both. Head east, as far as the sea, then cross. Find somewhere to settle, build your army and wait.”

Arthur shook his head slowly. There was just no way that he could do what was being asked of him. He could see the sense in it, but doing it was something else.

Uther gazed at him for a moment longer, then sighed. “Fine.”

“Really?” Morgana gasped. “You’re going to let him stay?”

“I can’t argue with such bravery, Morgana,” Uther told her. “In fact, I’m proud of him for it. It’s everything I’ve ever tried to instil in him. There could be no better king for Camelot. Come, we should drink to my son and your brother. I’ve never been more proud of him.”

Arthur felt the relief wash over him. He hadn’t expected his father to give in on that one. Morgana was still looking worried, and he supposed that might be because she had been hoping to leave with him.

“Morgana should still escape,” Arthur declared, following their father across the room. “She’s right that she shouldn’t be forced to marry.”

Uther nodded. He picked up a pitcher of wine that had been sitting on a table off to the side of the room. “This is true. We’ll send her with Leon instead. He’ll protect her. Here,” he handed Arthur a goblet filled with deep red wine, then held a second one up towards Morgana. “We should drink to Morgana first, as the new Pendragon princess.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Not that new, apparently.”

“Nevertheless, that is what you are. To Princess Morgana!” Uther toasted her, and Arthur followed suit.

The wine tasted slightly bitter but Arthur swallowed it down, not wanting to do anything but honour his new sister.

Morgana was looking between them both.

“You didn’t drink,” she said slowly, talking to Uther.

“No. Not this wine.”

Everything was getting blurry. It was as if Arthur had swallowed several vats of wine, not just one small goblet. He dropped the goblet and grabbed at the table, trying to keep himself upright on legs that would no longer hold him.

His father was looking down at him, while Morgana was crouching beside him, trying to support him.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” he heard his father say. “But you must live.”

And then there was nothing.

\---

Caerleon had provided an impressive batch of warriors for the arena.

The initial battles had gone on for days, entertaining the folk of Essetir better than any other kingdom before it. Merlin was kept busy, working mostly down in the cells below the arena where the wounded were brought. Most of them were healable. The dying tended to be finished off up on the sandy arena floor. Merlin kept his head down and got on with his work. He no longer wondered which kingdom would be captured next – it made little difference to him.

Merlin’s home town of Ealdor was always within Cenred’s kingdom. There was no conquest necessary. But Cenred had ordered that all magic users in his own kingdom were to be recruited into his army. Those that tried to run or hide found themselves down in the slave quarters, their wrists bound in cold iron to lock their traitorous magic away.

Merlin wasn’t a fighter. He’d just been a teenage boy living with his mother when Cenred’s men had arrived. His magic was untrained, uncontrolled and no match for the organised military might of the sorcerers who came for him. In the end it had been a choice between going with them or seeing them eradicate Ealdor, his mother and his friends. It was no choice.

Sometimes he wondered about Ealdor and how people fared there after he had gone. Merlin had never been allowed back and when it became apparent that he was never going to willingly join the army of sorcerers he had become more of a prisoner than ever. Cenred did not let magic users walk free unless they were prepared to fight for him. Sensible, really. Captivity did not encourage them to take Cenred’s side – quite the opposite.

In some ways Merlin had been fortunate. His mother had taught him the use of healing herbs and potions in the hope that one day he could go and work as apprentice to a healer. She’d mentioned Gaius, an old friend in Camelot, many times. Apparently she’d learned much from him. She thought Merlin would work well with Gaius and learn a useful trade. The magic would have to be hidden because it was banned there, but Gaius would help him with that. Back in Ealdor Merlin had been looking forward to being old enough to travel and meet the man he’d heard so much about but that time had never arrived. Cenred’s army had arrived first.

Taken to Essetir, his magic bound, Merlin had found himself apprenticed to Edwin Muir. Perhaps apprentice was the wrong word. Servant, slave, general dogsbody… all of those would be better descriptions of Merlin’s place. But it was useful in its way. Merlin kept his head down and his eyes open. Edwin had magic, free, unbound magic that he was happy to use for Cenred’s benefit. Merlin watched him. Merlin studied. Merlin learned. Not just the healing, but the magic too. One day there would be a chance at freedom and Merlin was determined that he would take it. He wouldn’t risk his mother by returning to Ealdor, but there was still the dream of Gaius and Camelot and his promised future there. Merlin knew exactly where he would run to.

In the meantime, Merlin’s work was mostly in the arena, tending to the prisoners.

Edwin, of course, believed himself far too good to tend to the ailments of captured slaves. That task was always delegated to Merlin. It was difficult, because Merlin’s compassion had not been bound along with his magic. He could still feel deeply sad at the captives’ fate. Early on he had learned not to get too close to them as it just made the inevitable worse. Go in, help ease suffering where he could, and then get out as quickly as possible.

And on arena day, make sure he wasn’t anywhere with a view of the stadium.

It was arena day.

Merlin had hurried down into the cells before the crowds arrived. He did his rounds, looking in on all the sick and injured, helping where he could. The prisoners from Caerleon were less plentiful now. Cenred had ways of disposing of the useless, and the rest were either dispatched as slaves or used as gladiators in the arena.

The gladiators were all in one large waiting area, ready to be called up. There was drink provided, though few of the serious ones partook of alcohol before a fight. Merlin stepped aside to let a couple of the serving girls bring more flagons of wine through. The girls moved amongst the fighters, offering their wares. Later some of those same girls would be the prizes for the most successful of the victors.

The gladiators were a mixed bunch in every way. Merlin could almost guarantee which of them would not be returning to the cells that evening. Some had probably been farmers, never fought until Caerleon’s king had recruited every able-bodied man into his army. They wouldn’t last against the trained knights who were making up the bulk of the gladiators.

“Hey Merlin!”

It was Gwaine, one of the new ones. Not a knight, or so he claimed, but he fought better than most and was fast becoming a favourite with the crowds. Cheeky and handsome, he had won them over in no time. He was making himself a target amongst the fighters who had been there longer. Merlin liked him and hoped that he would survive a long time.

“Gwaine. Still alive then?”

Gwaine gave the cheeky grin that made him beloved of the Essetir crowds, and favoured Merlin with a sweeping bow. “Wouldn’t want to deprive the people of my charms!”

One of the other gladiators was glaring at him. Valiant, Merlin thought the man’s name was. He’d been around a while and was near impossible to beat. He wasn’t the favourite of the crowds like Gwaine was, but he was heading fast for the position of king’s champion. And if you achieved that role then you could leave the arena and join the royal guard. Valiant had made no secret that this was his aim.

Gwaine was probably getting in his way.

“Just be careful,” Merlin warned, gesturing as subtly as he could towards Valiant. He didn’t think that Gwaine noticed though. Gwaine was too busy winking at one of the serving girls who had just reached him.

“Ellie! How’s my girl today?”

Ellie had been captured when Gawant’s lands were taken. A pretty blonde girl, probably the daughter of some noble judging by her complete lack of serving skills, she’d had a hard time of it for the first few months. She told him she’d lost her family during the fighting and was all alone now. Merlin had healed blisters and sores on her hands, and tried to heal her unhappiness as well. He hadn’t succeeded in the latter. Merlin’s good friend Gwen, another servant, had taken Ellie under her wing and shown her how to wash floors and serve food. They both suspected Ellie was of noble birth because she really hadn’t got a clue how to do anything of use.

“Still not your girl, Gwaine!” Ellie called back, but she smiled when she said it. Gwaine seemed to be the only one who could make her smile properly. It was a lovely smile, lighting up her face, not like the small smiles that she gave to Merlin and Gwen. She walked on past him, serving drinks to the other gladiators.

“You’ll weaken!” Gwaine called back. He watched her go, then turned back to Merlin, grinning broadly. “She’ll weaken,” he repeated. “She’s smitten!”

Merlin smiled, shaking his head. “She’s a nice girl, Gwaine. Don’t you go breaking her heart.”

Gwaine clutched at his chest in mock pain. “She’ll break mine!”

But she wouldn’t, Merlin could see that. Gwaine wouldn’t intend hurting her. But, as was likely, Gwaine died in the arena then Ellie was going to go right back to feeling completely alone again, just as she was starting to heal. Gladiators didn’t live very long.

“Just stay alive,” Merlin warned. “And don’t take her as a prize. Because if you do, and something happens to you then just remember she’ll just be free for anyone else to use.”

Gwaine abruptly looked serious. “What do you think I am?” He gazed after Ellie wistfully. “Anyway, they’d have to kill me first!”

Valiant really looked as if he’d like to have a try. He was still glaring across at Gwaine. It really didn’t bode well.

“I might have to take her as a prize,” Gwaine told him in a lowered voice. “You know, if it looked like someone else might request her. We can ask for any of them, if we’ve done well enough in the arena. Doesn’t matter if they’re one of the arena girls already or not. I don’t like the idea but there might not be a choice.”

He was right of course. And Ellie kept smiling across at him, her face all open and friendly and bright and pretty. When she’d first arrived, stumbling around and miserable, nobody noticed her. Gwaine had changed all that. And Valiant was bound to notice Gwaine’s interest eventually. He’d take her just to spite Gwaine if he could.

“Just stay alive,” Merlin told his friend. “That would be best for everyone.”

Gwaine smirked, looking as if he were about to make some inane comment. But the door opened and one of the gamesmaster’s men stood in the doorway calling for them all to go up. Gwaine just gave Merlin a wry smile and headed off.

Merlin wondered if he’d ever see his friend again.

He hated the arena.

Arthur had woken with hangovers enough times to know what one was.

This was worse than usual.

For one thing, the floor was moving. The hard, rough, wooden floor. That wasn’t right. Arthur normally woke up in his nice comfortable bed. Admittedly once in a pool of his own vomit but that had been a very good night and probably worth it. He couldn’t even remember drinking this time.

Head throbbing, he rolled over and half-sat up, blearily looking around. The motion was making him feel ill, and definitely making his headache worse. He appeared to be in the back of a covered wagon and for a brief moment he wondered if they’d been attacked and he was now a prisoner. But then he heard Leon’s familiar voice outside, calling to another knight.

Arthur scrambled as best he could over the boxes and bags that filled the wagon, and poked his head out of the front. Morgana of all people was sitting there driving the wagon, Sir Leon and a handful of other knights riding alongside it.

“Arthur’s awake!” Morgana called to the others. She looked a little warily at him. “Don’t be angry, it was for your own good.”

Arthur couldn’t remember what she was talking about.

“Why are we out here? Cenred could attack Camelot at any time. We need to go back!”

Morgana glanced worriedly at Leon then back at Arthur. “Arthur, we think he already has. Look.” She pointed out to the side of the wagon where a column of smoke could be seen rising in the distance, visible over the tops of the trees. “That appeared about an hour ago.”

Arthur stared at it for a brief moment, then at Morgana. “Why are we here? We should be defending the castle!” He made a grab for the reins but she anticipated him and swung them out of reach.

“Arthur, please. We can’t go back,” Morgana told him, pulling the horses up when he made another grab for the reins. “It’s too late.”

“Leon!” Arthur snapped. “We shouldn’t be here!”

“I don’t like it any more than you do, Sire,” Leon replied. “But the king ordered us to escort you and the lady Morgana to safety. We couldn’t refuse.”

“Uther knew that if you and I stayed then that would just be playing into Cenred’s hands,” Morgana continued. “It would be the end of the Pendragon line.”

Arthur started to remember a few things. “That wine… he drugged me!”

“Yes.”

“But not either of you! You both fled!”

“I’m not proud of it,” Morgana admitted. “But what else could I do? Uther insisted. And don’t blame Leon, he had no choice.”

Arthur knew that. Leon was a loyal and true knight and would have gone along with his king’s orders. Especially as they made sense. But Arthur wasn’t going to run away like some coward. He was the crown prince. Perhaps it was too late and he was king already. He gazed at the thin tower of smoke once more, then decided. “We’re going back.”

“I have orders to restrain you if necessary,” Leon told him apologetically.

“You can try! I won’t leave my father to die alone!” Arthur jumped down from the wagon and glared up at Leon. “Give me your horse. You should stay with Morgana, but I’m going back.”

Leon looked as if he was going to argue, but then thought better of it and dismounted, handing the reins over to Arthur.

“I can’t stop you.”

“Arthur, stay with us,” Morgana demanded. “You can’t do anything!”

“That’s true.”

The unfamiliar voice made them all turn as one. There were seven men on horseback right behind them. The approach had been silent, but the reason for that was obvious. Six of those men had magic, their eyes glowing gold as if they were on fire. And at the front was a dark-eyed man Arthur did know. His mother’s estranged brother, Agravaine. The man had always hated Uther.

Arthur and Leon immediately reached for their swords, but the weapons flew away from them as if repelled. Arthur found his hands bound by metal cuffs that appeared as if from nowhere. Leon was likewise bound. Of the other knights there was no sign. Just a few horses, saddled and seemingly abandoned. Arthur hoped their riders had escaped. But he doubted it. They wouldn’t have stood a chance.

The reports were true. Without magic there was no way to fight. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t honourable. But it was Cenred’s way.

“There’s nothing you can do. You may as well surrender,” Agravaine told them in a voice so conversational that he might as well have been discussing the weather. “It would be a shame to have to kill my sister’s boy.”

“Uncle,” Arthur began, “I know you don’t get along with my father, but surely you’ll let us go?”

Agravaine gave him a puzzled smile that really looked anything but puzzled. “Why would I do that? I have my orders. Cenred wants you all brought to Essetir, preferably alive. And then he’ll decide who should have Camelot after the Pendragons. I have expectations. I do hope your father lives long enough to see them realised.”

Arthur heard a little gasp from Morgana. He had come to the same conclusion that she probably had. What was it their father had said? She would be married off to give someone a legitimate claim to the throne? Agravaine was twice her age and then some.

Perhaps that wasn’t the intention? Perhaps as Arthur’s uncle he felt he had some claim anyway and a hideous forced marriage wouldn’t be necessary? Yet Morgana was stunningly beautiful. There was no chance at all that one of Cenred’s senior staff wouldn’t claim her.

He didn’t look around. If there was any chance Agravaine didn’t know Morgana’s true parentage then Arthur wasn’t going to be the one to enlighten him. Instead he met his uncle’s gaze fearlessly. The man might have a band of sorcerers at his command but that didn’t win him respect. Not from Arthur.

Sorcery and everything that went with it was evil.

Arthur’s father had not been wrong.

The games in the arena were over for another week.

This time there had been fewer fatalities than usual, mostly because the king had left halfway through and hadn’t been around to order the deaths of the injured like he normally did. It meant there was more work for Merlin, but Merlin really didn’t mind.

Gwaine, thankfully, was not amongst the injured. Gwaine had beaten his opponent fairly easily and been back down in the waiting area before most of the casualties started arriving. Merlin had barely had a chance to give him a cursory look over before his opponent was brought through and Merlin had to get to work.

“You’re fine,” Merlin declared, pushing a clean cloth into Gwaine’s hands. “Take a bath, make sure those scrapes are clean.”

To Gwaine’s credit he didn’t protest the rushed treatment. He glanced over at the groaning man who had been brought in and stretched out on one of the treatment tables, and Merlin could see the regret in Gwaine’s eyes. “He’s new. He didn’t want to fight me. Try to save him,” Gwaine urged.

As if Merlin ever tried to do anything else. Gwaine, at least, tried not to kill his opponents. The distant screams and gasps and cheers coming from the arena floor indicated that others would not be so careful. Some, like Valiant, actually enjoyed killing. And if the king had remained in attendance then Gwaine’s opponent, obviously beaten easily, would have been executed already.

As it was the man had a deep gash in his arm, and a shallow slash across his abdomen. The abdomen wound would be painful every time the man moved but the wound on his arm was the one Merlin was most concerned with. There was a lot of blood, and the arm was lying limp at the man’s side. If the arm couldn’t be saved then Merlin’s patient was as good as dead already. Gladiators who couldn’t provide entertainment as fighters tended to end up as animal fodder. That was the fate of the weak amongst Cenred’s captives.

Merlin forced a smile as he opened up his bag and brought out the things he was going to need. A potion first, to dull the pain. And a tourniquet. And soon enough Merlin’s sewing skills would be needed.

“So,” Merlin said cheerily, as the man swallowed the potion down without question, “you’re new here. Bad mistake running into my friend Gwaine there. He’s pretty good. But don’t worry, I’m pretty good too. What’s your name?” He fitted the tourniquet in place then pulled it tight, trying to ignore the man’s gasp of pain as he did so. “Sssss… that’s a strange name! Mine’s Merlin.”

“You’re funny, Merlin,” the man told him, his voice hoarse. “I’m Lancelot. I shouldn’t even be here, I’m not a citizen of any kingdom.”

“Got in the way of a sorcerer?” Merlin asked. He was trying to clean the wound as best he could before stitching it up. The conditions weren’t particularly sanitary but he’d read most of Edwin’s medical books and knew more than most about how to create a poultice that did actually help heal rather than speed death along. This Lancelot was going to need one.

“Just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were rounding up innocent people, I couldn’t just stand back and let it happen. I tried to help.”

Behind them, another fallen gladiator was brought in. This one was screaming and Merlin was glad that one of his colleagues would have to deal with that. Difficult patients who were strong could often lash out at the physicians when the treatment became painful. Merlin had his share of bruises.

Lancelot winced as Merlin poured alcohol on the wound.

“You can drink it if you like!” Merlin offered. Lancelot nodded and grabbed the bottle off him. He didn’t make a sound though, nothing more than sharp intakes of breath when Merlin’s needle broke the skin. Brave as well as kind-hearted. Merlin resolved to do his best to save him.

Behind him, he heard the door open again. This time it was a healthy fighter – Valiant. Merlin kept his head down, not wanting to have to be the one to go over. Valiant was bellowing about the king leaving before his fight. It would have thwarted his plans to get promoted up out of the gladiator ranks. But there would always be next time.

There was no injured opponent carried in. Not from Valiant.

Merlin tried not to think about that and concentrated on Lancelot, doing his best to distract the man whilst he worked on him. “He left early? You all bored the king then?”

“I never bore anyone, you know that Merlin!” Gwaine had appeared at Merlin’s side, wincing as he saw the wound on Lancelot’s chest. “There was word that Camelot’s fallen. Old Cenred will have gone to enjoy his victory there.”

The next batch of knights to reach the arena would probably be from Camelot then. That would give Gwaine and Valiant a bit of a challenge, Merlin thought. Valiant would do his best to kill them all. Gwaine would just try to keep himself alive.

“Sorry about that, mate,” Gwaine continued, gesturing at Lancelot’s wound. “But that’ll heal. Merlin here’s the best we’ve got!”

“I’m pretty much all you’ve got,” Merlin warned. It wasn’t true, the gladiators had a few physicians come in. But Merlin knew he was the best of them. Anyway, Gwaine was actually helping, being a distraction. He did that sometimes.

“Hey, I’ve got Ellie too! Here she comes! Oh, two of them, it gets better!”

Merlin paused for a moment, glancing back to check who was approaching. It was dangerous for any of the serving girls to come down after the fights. Ellie shouldn’t be there, and neither should Gwen. Although by the annoyed look on Gwen’s face, she wasn’t there by choice.

“Look at this… what’s your name?” Gwaine grinned at Lancelot, who looked up at that point. And saw Gwen.

Merlin hadn’t ever seen anyone look quite so smitten quite so quickly. He took advantage of the distraction and quickly finished off his handiwork.

“Lancelot…” Lancelot was answering Gwaine but definitely only speaking to Gwen. He didn’t say anything further though, just gazed at her. Gwen, to Merlin’s surprise, seemed to have gone uncharacteristically coy and was ducking her head, looking at Lancelot from beneath her eyelashes.

“Lancelot,” Gwaine repeated. “Well, my friend, these are our two loveliest ladies. Ellie here is spoken for and I _will_ kill anyone who tries to steal her from me. And this is her equally lovely friend Guinevere…” he paused, looked between Gwen and Lance and then just rolled his eyes. “She’s usually got more to say for herself than this.”

That seemed to shake Gwen back into normality, although she couldn’t seem to stop smiling at Lancelot. If they got as cute with each other as Gwaine and Ellie, Merlin was going to get some new friends.

“You’ll have to do a bit better in the arena though, if you want the company of the fair maidens,” Gwaine continued, missing the furious look that Gwen shot him and ploughing on regardless. “Gwen here is particularly picky about who she associates with. Took me ages to even get her to speak to me. Merlin here, he’s the one you need to get on side, they all love him.”

The look Lancelot gave Merlin was part disappointment, part annoyance.

“Gwen and I have been good friends for years,” Merlin explained. “She’s like a sister to me.”

Lancelot brightened visibly.

“And I’m a maid,” Gwen added quickly. “I serve food and drink in here and that’s all!” She smacked Gwaine on the arm, which seemed to be the funniest thing Lancelot had ever seen judging by how much he laughed.

Lancelot was clearly far too nice to last long in the brutal arena. Gwaine only survived because there was quite a bit of the rogue in there along with the nice guy. Gwaine was a survivor. Merlin was already judging Lancelot and finding him wanting. And he didn’t want Gwen getting her heart broken.

“You two should leave,” Merlin advised. “I’m going to be a while, more people to see.”

Gwaine had his arm around Ellie, which probably wasn’t a good idea with Valiant still striding around complaining that the king had missed his great victory. Valiant usually grabbed the girl of his choice and never mind if she was one of the arena whores or not. His rivalry with Gwaine would mark Ellie as that choice as soon as he noticed.

“Valiant’s still here,” Merlin warned, and was relieved to see Gwaine release Ellie.

“Who’s Valiant?” Lancelot asked.

“Ah, someone to stay away from, my friend,” Gwaine advised, going to drape a friendly arm around Lancelot’s shoulders, then looking at the wound he’d inflicted in the arena and apparently thinking better of it. “Let’s just say that if you’d run into him we’d be picking you up in pieces. But he’s not so great. I’ll win my freedom too, and just as soon as I do I’m out of here. And I’ll be taking my Ellie with me.”

Ellie grinned back at him. Which was a mistake, because just at that moment Valiant spotted them.

“This one!” he yelled, pointing at Ellie who gave a little gasp of horror.

Gwaine was fast, stepping between them, putting an arm around Ellie. “Already claimed her,” he warned. “You really want to challenge me, Val? I fight back.”

“Get out of here,” Merlin whispered to Gwen. “Run.” He stepped up beside Gwaine, hoping that the motion would cover Gwen’s exit. Lancelot as a losing gladiator wouldn’t be able to claim her, and no matter how good Gwaine was the rules stated he could only claim one woman. Gwen hesitated for a moment, looking at Ellie, not wanting to leave her friend. Merlin nodded to her as discreetly as he could.

“He did make a claim,” Merlin confirmed. “He was down here first, I heard him.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gwen moving away, wisely not going too fast and drawing attention to herself.

“And who are you?” Valiant asked. “Some snivelling little slave who isn’t even allowed free use of his own magic? You’re nothing.”

“I heard him too,” Lancelot claimed.

Valiant was thinking about challenging, Merlin could tell. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted Ellie, any girl would do. He just wanted what was Gwaine’s. One day the games master would decide to pit them against each other in the arena and that would be the end of it. Hopefully the end of Valiant, but the man fought dirty so there was no guarantee.

“You can’t win forever, Gwaine,” Valiant warned. “And when you lose, when it’s me or someone else killing you, I promise you I’ll celebrate your death by fucking your woman. You’d better be careful.”

Gwen was at the door. Merlin breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw her escape through it. Valiant would certainly have taken her instead. There was a reason they shouldn’t have been down there after the victorious gladiators started to return. Valiant seemed to remember him then, and turned his furious gaze on Merlin.

“Don’t look so pleased, slave. I know a liar when I see one. You’ll keep.”

And with that he strode off, heading for some other poor girl.

“You made an enemy there, Merlin,” Gwaine observed. “Tell me I’m not going to have to fight for your honour as well?”

Merlin shook his head. “I’m the only healer that comes down here regularly. I’ll be fine.”

Gwaine hadn’t let go of Ellie. “Don’t worry about what he said,” he told her gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It was starting to look as if that were something they all hoped was true, Merlin included. Gwaine was the main protector down there. Because Merlin’s dream of Camelot would forever remain just that - a dream. There was no kingdom to run to now.

\---

Camelot had fallen.

Arthur knew from the ease with which he had been captured that his being there would have made no difference. Still, he would much rather have been taken with the castle than caught fleeing like some coward. Arthur was brave, that was what his father had taught him to be. It was what his father was as well. Arthur might not like the fact that he’d been forced to leave Camelot against his wishes but he fully understood his father’s reasons for doing so. Arthur would have done exactly the same for someone he loved. He’d have done it for Morgana and he’d have done it for his father.

His father, who was probably already dead.

Arthur, Leon and Morgana had been bound and bundled into the back of the wagon, then driven back to Camelot. There were three other knights with them, the only ones to survive the attack. It was two more than Arthur had first thought, but it was still a very small number.

It wasn’t a comfortable journey. The driver seemed to find every pit and stone in the road and then ride over it. Probably deliberately, Arthur thought.

“Can’t those sorcerers magic the road flat or something?” Arthur grumbled at nobody in particular as they jolted over yet another pothole.

Leon just looked at him hopelessly. Bedivere, one of the other three surviving knights, shook his head.

“We’ll all be executed in the courtyard anyway, Sire. No point in making us comfortable.”

Optimistic attitudes were always good.

“That won’t happen, will it? We’ll be made slaves or something?” Galahad asked. He was another survivor, the newest and youngest of all the Camelot knights. It was barely more than a few weeks since he’d been knighted. He’d survived the attack along with Sir Kay, a much older knight. Galahad was until very recently his squire.

“We’ll see, lad,” Kay reassured him.

It had been a paralysing spell for those three knights. They’d sat frozen in place, watching the sorcerers destroying their friends in an instant. The other knights had apparently been evaporated without a trace. It wasn’t a fair fight. Or any sort of fight at all. Just the luck of whichever sorcerer had been assigned to stop you, Arthur guessed. At first it had looked as if all his knights had gone but then those three had been bundled into the wagon with them.

Perhaps for Galahad, young and frightened, it would have been better if they had all gone instantly. Perhaps it would have been better for them all. Arthur had heard the rumours. Cenred’s executions could be grim.

“I don’t know what they’ll do,” Arthur admitted. “You might be given the chance to defect to Cenred’s side.”

“And nobody will hold it against you if you do,” Morgana added.

Arthur frowned at her, not entirely sure that was true.

“I wouldn’t,” Galahad declared bravely and that was an end to it.

They were almost at Camelot anyway. Arthur could see the familiar towers rising up ahead of them between the loose flaps of canvas that partly covered the front of the wagon. The ride had become smoother as the road improved. But Camelot felt different. The lower town was silent when they rode through. No sign of the people who lived there. Arthur had ridden through it hundreds of times and even at night the town had felt alive. Now it was as if it were a ghost town.

“Where is everyone?” Galahad asked, looking even more fearful. “Gods, they’ve not slaughtered the townspeople too? Who would do such a thing?”

Nobody could answer. Arthur had wondered the same thing but prayed there was some other reason.

The wagon rattled to a standstill in the courtyard, then there was a long, agonising wait. Arthur could hear people outside talking, he could hear his uncle’s voice. But they were all talking too quietly or were too far off to be heard clearly. Finally the covering at the back of the wagon was pulled out of the way and one of the sorcerers who’d captured them stood there glaring into the wagon.

“Get out! Now!” he barked, then watched coldly as his prisoners struggled to get up. Their bound wrists and cramped limbs made it very difficult.

Arthur tried to help Morgana as best he could but it was a near impossible task. In the end they both half-stumbled, half-fell out of the back of the wagon and ended up barely managing to stay upright. Arthur found Morgana keeping close. She was frightened. And as Morgana was one of the toughest people he’d ever met, that was scary in itself. And her faith in his ability to keep her safe was almost certainly misplaced. He might be the best swordsman in the five kingdoms (or however many kingdoms were left) but he was no match for the sorcerers.

Then again, take away their powers and give them a sword and they would be no match for him either. Bolstered by that thought he kept his head up, glaring at their captors defiantly.

“Where’s the king? What have you done with him?”

Arthur was sure the answer would be that Uther was dead, but he wasn’t ready to voice that assumption out loud. He addressed his question to Agravaine, who gave a far too pleasant smile and walked casually over to Arthur. Arthur noticed that Agravaine still kept just out of range. Although his hands were bound Arthur was fairly sure he could manage to thump Agravaine like he deserved. Just another step or two would do it.

“Ah, dear nephew. Your father… we won’t call him king any more as that time has passed… your father has been languishing in the dungeons, awaiting your return so that we can all make our way to Essetir. Now that you and your beautiful sister” – he gave Morgana a slight bow and Arthur saw her cringe away from him – “have returned to Camelot, we can start to organise Essetir’s newest shire and be on our way.”

“Camelot is a kingdom,” Arthur stated coldly. “Not a shire.”

“Things are different now,” Agravaine told him. “Now, the lovely princess Morgana… I’m sure you’re relieved that you’ll no longer be living in fear for your life?”

Arthur felt Morgana move very slightly away from him. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “I am in fear now, with you people taking our kingdom.”

Agravaine leaned forward, causing her to shrink back. Arthur moved between them, and Agravaine smirked, then straightened up again.

“You wouldn’t be so protective if you knew she had magic. Because you do, don’t you my dear?” he added to Morgana.

“I do know,” Arthur told him. There had been a gasp from the knights at Agravaine’s words, and Arthur tried to cover that quickly for Morgana’s sake. “She’s doing no harm. So, I don’t know what you mean either. My sister is under my protection.” He glanced at Morgana, giving her a reassuring smile.

Agravaine inclined his head, pointedly regarding the chains around Arthur’s wrists. “And most effective and useful protection it is too. However, luckily the princess Morgana is not in need of protection. As a magic user you will be most welcome in the kingdom of Essetir. King Cenred himself is keen to make your acquaintance.”

“Gods protect me,” Arthur heard Morgana breathe. He knew exactly what she was thinking of. The dreams. The crown. Once again there was a real risk of her prophetic dreams coming true. He tried not to think about the rest of that dream and what it might mean for him.

\---

Morgana Pendragon had always had dreams.

Ever since she was a little girl they had disturbed her sleep and left her afraid during the day. There were the early ones, small things like dreaming of Arthur falling from a tree and hurting his arm, then it happened the next day. There was the dream of a beautiful queen coming to Camelot with her court, right before King Gruffydd and his queen Morwenna arrived to talk a powerful alliance with Nemeth and Gawant, their scruffy son and snooty daughter in tow. And then years later she’d dreamt of them both, covered in blood, their throats cut. Two days later Camelot had the news that their kingdom had fallen and Caerleon was now the ruler. Caerleon had even renamed the land after himself, to ensure Gruffydd was forgotten.

She remembered how saddened Uther had been by that. He hadn’t known that she’d been forewarned of it of course, she would never have told him that. But Gruffydd had been a fair king and a brave one. Uther and he had been friends.

After that, when she could, she’d tried to use the dreams as warnings. It wasn’t easy to explain how she could possibly know that a stable roof was going to collapse, but she complained the creaking frightened her horse. She had a tantrum and demanded her horse be moved. Uther, as always, gave in to her and had the roof checked. The roof still collapsed. One of the men working on it fell and broke a leg. Morgana had felt bad for him, but in her original vision the stable had been full of horses and knights just come back from patrol. There had been deaths. She had made a difference.

For all that difference, she still had to be careful. And it was useless magic really, prophecy. She couldn’t break the chains that held her and Arthur. She couldn’t overpower their captors. She couldn’t do anything with it really.

At that moment Morgana would have given anything to be a powerful sorceress. Anything.

\---

King Cenred had already arrived at Camelot.

Arthur and Morgana were taken straight to the throne room. There was no sign of Uther, although if what Agravaine said was true and the king was locked in the dungeons then that wasn’t surprising. There was also little sign of the castle staff. The few servants running around the place were new, none of the Pendragon servants there at all.

“Your servants have been given a choice,” Agravaine explained, seeing him watching one new worker curiously. “Swear loyalty to the king and continue working here, or suffer the fate of those who would commit treason. Obviously those with the sense to take the preferable option are on probation at the moment. We’ll see how genuine they are over time. I’m sure servants don’t really care who the king is as long as they’re paid. Well, except those with magic of course. They’re all terribly loyal.”

“We didn’t have any servants with magic,” Arthur pointed out.

Agravaine just gave him a horribly superior smile and said nothing. The implication was clear – there just hadn’t been any that Arthur had known about. It was sickening. If they’d had magic users then perhaps they could have fought back. He didn’t even know yet what had been done there. Perhaps half the population of the castle and town had simply been obliterated just like the knights had? Though it sounded as if they were still around. He hoped that was the case. The people were innocent, they deserved to be able to live their lives as they wanted. They shouldn’t be slaughtered because they’d been ruled over by a different king.

And as they walked into the throne room, Arthur saw the new king for the first time.

He’d heard about Cenred, but never actually seen him in person. The man wasn’t so impressive. He had long black hair that really looked ridiculous. Arthur wouldn’t have allowed it on his knights. And then there was the tight black leather outfit that made his limbs look far too thin and spindly. He looked more like someone who’d escaped from a theatre troupe than a king. The real king, Arthur’s father, was on his knees on the floor in front of the steps to the throne.

“Ah, the family is complete!” Cenred called as Arthur and Morgana came in.

Uther twisted to look at them. He didn’t seem to be able to move his lower half, as if his knees were glued to the floor. More sorcery. Arthur ran over to him as best he could. It was awkward to run with his hands tied. He’d never realised how much he moved his arms for balance. Stumbling to a stop beside Uther, Arthur was faced with a choice of either kneeling as well or staying standing over his father. He chose the latter option, though doubted he’d be allowed to stand for long. They’d probably both be executed right there in the throne room. He could hear Morgana hurrying after him.

“Arthur,” Uther sighed. “And Morgana. Ah no, I hoped you’d both get away.”

Arthur decided not to let his father know that they’d almost turned around and come back of their own accord. In the end it hadn’t made any difference anyway. “They caught up with us. Most of the knights were killed. We didn’t stand a chance.”

Morgana stood on Uther’s other side. “Only four of the knights survived. Leon, Kay, Galahad and Bedivere. Nobody had the opportunity to fight back. Don’t blame them.”

Uther nodded sadly. “It was the same here. They cast a sleeping spell over Camelot. I woke up in the dungeon.” He twisted to look up at them both. “Are the two of you unhurt?”

“Yes,” Morgana assured him.

They could both see that the same wasn’t true of Uther. He was sporting a number of bruises and a black eye. And that was just what they could see. Doubtless there would be more beneath the shirt and breeches he was wearing. Arthur was surprised they hadn’t executed him already. The reasons for not doing so couldn’t possibly be good.

“Enough of the family reunion,” Cenred called. “This is a small extension to my kingdom, I don’t wish to spend much time here.”

“Then leave,” Arthur said coldly.

Cenred laughed. “I shall. And you’ll be leaving with me Arthur Pendragon. I hear you like to fight. You’ll do well in my arena, you and your knights.”

Arthur frowned, but refused to give Cenred the satisfaction of asking the obvious question – what on earth was the arena and how were they supposed to feature in it? Cenred’s gaze had fallen on Morgana, his interest in Arthur already over.

“Princess Morgana, you’re most welcome in my court,” Cenred told her, waving a hand imperiously. “Please, approach the throne.”

Arthur exchanged a worried look with his sister.

“I’d rather stay here, thank you!” Morgana told Cenred curtly. “I want no part of your court. You have no right here.”

“Oh but I do,” Cenred smiled. “I have right of conquest. And you, my dear, are to be one of the prizes. My queen.”

“I’d rather die!”

“Well that could be arranged but it would be rather a waste. Morgause!” Cenred snapped his fingers and a very beautiful blonde lady stepped forward. Arthur had barely noticed her in his concern about his father, but she had been standing beside the throne, watching them all. She had a smirk to rival Cenred’s, but at least the smile she turned on Morgana appeared to be kind.

“Don’t snap your fingers at me ever again,” Arthur heard her whisper as she passed Cenred and descended the steps. The real power behind the throne then. Arthur regarded her warily as she approached Morgana.

“Don’t touch me!” Morgana snarled, stepping back.

“Really? And yet I’m your sister? Our mother had me hidden away from him” – she pointed at Uther – “when I was a small child. You weren’t even born.”

“I don’t have a sister!”

Until a few days before she hadn’t had a brother either, Arthur thought ruefully. This Morgause had to be Gorlois’ daughter, a half-sister just as he was a half-brother.

“Gorlois’ daughter died!” Uther snapped. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Morgause held up a ring. “This was my mother’s… our mother’s,” she corrected quickly, speaking to Morgana. “Do you not recognise her sigil?”

“You could have stolen that from anywhere,” Uther growled. “So many noble kingdoms reduced to dust!”

“Our mother had magic,” Morgause continued. “She saw it in me and sent me off to be trained as a high priestess, before Uther found out and had me killed. He’d kill you too, if he knew you had magic. Because you do, don’t you, sister?”

Morgana turned panicked eyes towards Arthur. “It could be true…”

And it could be. Arthur loved his father but he could see as well as anyone that a small child at court displaying magic would have to be hidden. And what powerful creature had been created from that child? A sorceress who had probably brought down Camelot single-handedly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“No, he doesn’t know,” Morgause agreed. “But you do, don’t you, sister?”

There had been no reaction from Uther to the mention of Morgana having magic. _He knew_, Arthur realised. He’d known and said nothing, letting Morgana suffer and believe herself alone.

“I… I don’t know,” Morgana looked between Morgause and Arthur. “I don’t know!”

“Over time I will show you. And teach you. You’ll learn magic, just as our mother would have wanted.”

“Abomination!” Uther snarled at Morgause. “You should have been smothered in your cradle!”

And that was the wrong thing to say. Morgana gasped and stepped back from him in horror.

“Morgana, he doesn’t mean you,” Arthur attempted, but it was as if she didn’t hear him.

“You would have burned me too, if you’d known.”

“No,” Uther assured her. “Not you. You just had dreams. Harmless dreams. It doesn’t mean anything…” His voice cut off abruptly, with a brief sound as if he were choking.

“She has magic!” Morgause cried. “Magic! How many sorcerers have you forced her to watch burn, Uther? How frightened must she have been? You and your son would have burned her without a second thought!”

That seemed to remind Morgana that Arthur was there too. Her panicked expression softened somewhat as she looked up at him.

“Not Arthur. Arthur knew, he accepted me.”

There was a brief flash of anger across Morgause’s face at that. It went against her plans of course that the half-brother could be as strong a contender for Morgana’s affections and loyalty as the half-sister was.

“Of course he did. Words are cheap, sister. Would he have leapt on the pyre to save you if it had come down to it? I think not.”

Arthur gave Morgana a small smile, reassuring her. “You know I would protect you always.”

“Yes…”

Morgause must have realised that she’d lost that particular fight, as she changed tactics very quickly.

“Enough of Arthur, he’s nothing now. You have magic, Morgana, and I’ll gladly teach you how to use it if you’ll let me. Our mother gave us this great gift and it would be wrong not to use it. Let me teach you?”

Morgana looked worriedly at Arthur.

“It’s your decision,” he told her. But there was always a chance, if she learned, that she would remember the people who loved her and would overthrow Cenred one day in the future. A Pendragon on the throne once more. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod. Her eyes widened for a moment, then she turned back to Morgause.

“I would like to learn,” she said, holding out her cuffed hands. “Take these off me, show me your goodwill.”

Morgause smiled, and her eyes glowed briefly the most brilliant shade of gold. Morgana’s chains fell away, clattering to the floor. In their place were a pair of beautiful bejewelled bracelets, both of them featuring the serpent design from Cenred’s heraldic emblem.

Morgana frowned, pulling at them but they didn’t seem to be removable. “What is this?”

“I’m sorry, my dear sister. All our new magic users wear restraints at first. It helps to prove your loyalty to the crown. You won’t have to wear them for long. And those are very beautiful. They won’t be a hardship to wear.”

“Did you wear them?” Arthur snapped.

Morgause looked at him for a moment. “I invented them, Arthur.”

“So sorcerers are either with you or they’re restrained?”

“Almost all sorcerers are with us,” Morgause told him. “Now silence.”

Arthur had plenty to say about that. Except he didn’t because suddenly he found himself unable to speak. That explained why his father had been so silent during Morgause’s speech. If she didn’t like what you were saying then she made it impossible to talk. Not exactly a benevolent and free-thinking kingdom.

“Come with me,” Morgause insisted. “We have much to discuss.”

“I won’t be his queen!” Morgana indicated Cenred who was still sitting watching. “I won’t.”

“In name only,” Morgause assured her. “It will help unite the conquered kingdoms. The people will look to you, love you.”

Morgana still looked troubled, but that did seem to reassure her a little. “And Arthur? Uther?”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with them,” Cenred told her.

“I don’t want them to die!”

“Well then,” Morgause smiled kindly. “We’ll give them an opportunity to live. You see, dear sister, we are a benevolent kingdom.”

Somehow Arthur doubted that.

\---

Morgana rode silently at her new sister’s side.

A week ago she’d learned that she had two new siblings in as many days. That was probably some kind of achievement at her age, but Morgana wasn’t proud of it.

Arthur, dear Arthur who had been so ready to accept her, had been locked up with their father and would be paraded through Essetir when they arrived as if he were some kind of freak show. And all their people, those that had refused to swear loyalty to Cenred or simply ones that Cenred or his people hadn’t liked the look of, those people were locked in cages on the carts behind them. Who knew what fate they were going to endure?

She didn’t want to think about Uther. There had been enough hints from Morgause and Cenred already. They seemed to think killing someone was a matter to laugh at.

Uther had many, many faults. But she didn’t think she’d ever seen him laugh because someone had died. Not even the sorcerers that he’d had killed. He’d been angry, vengeful. But laughing? Never.

Cenred and Morgause appeared to be together. She wouldn’t call it love because she was fairly sure that neither of them were capable of such an emotion. But there was definitely something sexual going on. She prayed it would be enough for him, that as his queen she wouldn’t be expected to share his bed. In name only, Morgause had said. But that was impossible, he’d want an heir eventually. And how much could she be trusted?

As if guessing her thoughts, Morgause turned at that moment to smile at her.

“You’ll like Essetir, my dear sister. It’s so much larger and grander than Camelot. And you’ll be allowed to use your magic freely there.”

Morgana looked down at the bindings on her wrists. She’d slept badly every night since their capture, but that had nothing to do with her dreams. Those were cut off from her. If she’d ever had any doubt that they were magic, that doubt had gone. Still, it was hardly an indication that she was about to be allowed to be free with her magic.

“With these on?” she held up one hand, the golden bracelet glinting in the sunlight. “It seems unlikely.”

“It’s just a precaution for now. Just until you see how much better things are in Essetir. You’re amongst friends now.”

Morgana had never, ever felt more alone.

\---


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin might have been apprentice to Edwin, but his supposed teacher actually taught him very little. This was partly because Edwin had no interest in teaching Merlin, and partly because Merlin spent as much time away from ‘home’ as possible.

It was during his morning restock, when he tried to cram everything he was likely to need that day into his bag, that the procession from Camelot entered the city.

Edwin lived close to the castle in one of the grander streets. It was on a main road through the city and the front windows of the house all had an excellent view of any spectacle that happened to be passing.

Generally Merlin was confined to the cellar. It was cold and damp and smelled of the earth. It was also where Merlin slept, and where the main stores and workshop were housed. Edwin preferred to entertain paying customers with minor ailments up on the first floor, in smartly-decorated treatment rooms. He had another apprentice, Gilli, who was far better regarded than Merlin. Gilli assisted with the paying customers. Gilli was better dressed and allowed a small room at the back of the house. And Gilli did not have to wear magic restraints because he had been happy to swear allegiance to Cenred. Eventually Gilli would have his own practice and be able to afford a fine home to live in.

Unless Merlin also swore loyalty to Cenred he would remain a slave forever. Oh, they might call him a servant, an apprentice, but Merlin knew exactly what he was and how few rights he had. Gilli had even commented once or twice that he might buy Merlin from Edwin when the time came. He claimed that he meant he would purchase the apprenticeship, but Merlin knew exactly what he meant.

The look in Gilli’s eyes when he made those comments was predatory at best. Merlin knew Gilli wouldn’t just be using him as a physician’s assistant if the threat became reality. Unbelievably, Edwin was the better option.

So Merlin kept his head down when he was in the house and caused as little trouble as possible. It was best for everyone, especially Merlin.

But on the day that Camelot’s deposed king rode through, along with the still-loyal members of his court, it was impossible to ignore the spectacle. Everyone had heard tales of the magic-hating king of Camelot and the terrible things that he’d done to sorcerers. Nobody wanted to miss the opportunity to see him for themselves. Outside, Merlin could hear people gathering. Citizens were standing outside talking and the sound drifted down through the small open windows of the basement rooms.

“…getting what he deserves!”

“…killed so many people…”

“Why would anyone stay loyal?”

“They say the princess is to be our queen…”

“Look! Here they come!”

Merlin didn’t wait to listen to any more. All his life he’d heard about Uther Pendragon, the cruel king of Camelot who had executed sorcerers on sight. It was one of the things that had puzzled him about the fact that his mother wanted to send him there. With Merlin’s magic he surely wouldn’t last a day. Yet his mother swore that her friend there would ensure Merlin was safe. Merlin had his doubts, but since he had been captured by Cenred there was no chance to ever find out. Now there was at least an opportunity to see the man for himself.

Merlin ran upstairs into the house, hoping Edwin and Gilli wouldn’t be there. He was in luck, the main room at the front was empty and there didn’t seem to be anybody around. He could open the shutters and lean out without being yelled at to get back downstairs.

Outside it was as if a festival parade was going on. The streets were full of people crowded together, all jostling for a look at the fallen king.

Coming up the road, heading for the castle and probably the arena too, a large procession approached.

At the head were the king’s own guards, clearing the way. They were fearsome in their black armour and wore the snake sigil of the king, confirming their authority. Few people were stupid enough to stand in their path. Fierce and deadly, the king’s guards were feared with good reason.

Behind them, smiling and waving triumphantly, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd, was Essetir’s glorious king. Merlin noticed that the crowds were cheering him extra-hard, doubtless afraid to be seen as anything other than devoted to him. Cenred was, after all, crueller than any other king in living memory if you crossed him. Even Uther Pendragon was nothing in comparison, not really. At least Uther didn’t have people publicly tortured before he executed them.

Cenred looked towards the house at that moment and Merlin ducked out of sight briefly. He could have just waved and smiled like everyone else but he wasn’t going to do that. Not to the man who had raided the village where Merlin had grown up and taken anyone or anything that he thought might be useful to him. Not to the man who had hurt Merlin’s mother when she’d tried to protect her son.

Merlin thought that his mother was still alive. She’d been hit and thrown to the floor, trying to stop Cenred’s men taking Merlin. The man in charge of the raid had kicked her in the stomach… Merlin still wanted nothing more than to get revenge on him for that. But they’d clamped the cold iron restraints on his wrists there and then and there had never been a chance since to reach for his magic.

That man – Agravaine Merlin thought he was called – was riding in the procession just a little way behind Cenred. Merlin counted to five, then decided it was safe to look again. Sure enough, Cenred had ridden past and there was no risk of him seeing a less than enthusiastic subject staring at him through Edwin Muir’s front window. Agravaine was just passing, looking as smug and pleased with himself as he had on the day he’d led the raid on Merlin’s home. Merlin wanted to kick him in the stomach, the face… anywhere really. See how he liked it. Merlin wasn’t a violent person but it was hard when faced with someone like Agravaine.

Beside Agravaine was Cenred’s Commander of Magic, Morgause Gorlois. It was rumoured that she was the king’s lover too, and Merlin wondered what she thought of the new potential queen if those rumours were true. Stunningly beautiful, yet cold and aloof, Morgause was one of the most powerful magic users in Cenred’s kingdom. In some ways Merlin might have liked to study under her, learn his craft. But she practiced dark magic, and that wasn’t something he really wanted to learn. Healing magic, defensive magic, magic that helped the crops grow in the field… those were all things that Merlin wanted to learn. Although learning to fight with magic definitely had its uses.

Just having his magic back, free to use, would have been enough for Merlin at that stage.

Next to Morgause was a woman Merlin had never seen before. Raven haired, pale skinned and breathtakingly beautiful, the woman was also regal and aloof, staring straight ahead as they rode through the streets. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so cold and expressionless. Then he saw that she wore cuffs to contain her magic just like he did. But hers were coated with gold and jewels, barely recognisable as the cold iron that they were. A bird in a gilded cage, quite literally.

“That’s her,” he heard someone cry. “That’s the new queen!”

Merlin saw the woman flinch as if she’d been hit. Not a willing bride then. She had to have come from Camelot, riding in as she was with the prisoners. He’d heard a few stories about the conquest. Apparently Cenred’s men had swept in and taken Camelot with ease. Magic was banned in Camelot and in the end that had been its fatal weakness. King Uther had been defenceless against Cenred’s band of sorcerers. His famed knights hadn’t even had the opportunity to put up a fight. The entire kingdom had been magically put to sleep and woken up enslaved. Anyone who’d tried to resist after that had been killed. Nothing about a sorceress.

Once Camelot was captured there would have been a division of the kingdom, the existing citizens given a choice. That was how Cenred’s conquests always happened. Many townspeople would have sworn loyalty to Cenred and been allowed to remain in their homes. Any that hadn’t would have been brought to Essetir for the arena or to be turned into slaves. Usually any sorcerers were rounded up and told to choose their side as well, but there wouldn’t be any of those in Camelot. Except this woman.

“Welcome, Princess Morgana!” someone called.

Morgause leaned across in the saddle and said something to the dark-haired woman, who was presumably Morgana. Morgana raised a hand but the gesture carried no warmth. Everything looked forced. She didn’t smile.

Merlin watched as Morgana and Morgause rode past, then turned his attention to the traffic behind them. There was a long row of carts, all carrying large cages. It was a familiar enough sight after Cenred had conquered a kingdom. All those who wouldn’t swear fealty to the new king were rounded up and brought to Essetir. And in the first cart, unless they’d already been killed, was the deposed monarch and their family.

Uther Pendragon had been an unpopular monarch as far as the sorcerers of Essetir were concerned. He was in the first cart but it was difficult to see because so many people were clamouring to look. Many were shouting abuse and throwing things. He was probably glad of the cages they’d been put in, Merlin thought, it was protection against the mob getting him and ripping him apart before he even reached the arena.

Merlin strained to see into the cage, climbing up onto a little stool to see better. There was a figure sitting there in the centre, head bowed. He didn’t look like a king. He looked unkempt, as if he hadn’t changed the bloodied shirt that he was wearing for days. His grey hair was greasy and mussed up. There was no sign of a terrifying, sorcerer-murdering tyrant. Yet the people still threw things and spat at the cart.

Behind him, one hand laid supportively on Uther’s shoulder, head held high and looking every inch a king, was one of the most handsome men Merlin had ever seen. It had to be Arthur Pendragon, Uther’s son. Merlin had heard things about Arthur. Good things. People had said that he was just and fair. A brave knight and a loyal son. He didn’t deserve this. Whatever his father had done, Arthur did not deserve to travel through that baying crowd. But the abuse did not seem to touch him. Only when something aimed at his father got through the bars and hit Arthur instead did Merlin see the slightest flinch. Then Arthur would stare straight ahead again, as if the crowd weren’t even there.

He’d be down in the arena, Merlin was sure of it. Whatever Cenred decided would entertain the crowd that day. Uther would probably be ripped apart by beasts. That had been the fate of the king of Caerleon. Horrific. Such a waste of life. And the son would probably join him in that fate. Arthur didn’t look as if he were going to bend the knee to Cenred any time soon. Merlin swallowed hard, sickened at the thought of the noble prince being torn apart, unable to defend himself. That wasn’t how he should go out. Merlin could imagine him on the battlefield, strong and proud, fighting to the very last.

Or, better, as a very old man who’d had a long and fruitful reign, surrounded by his loved ones and succeeded by a worthy heir.

The cart carrying the Pendragons rattled past. Beyond it was the first of many more cages, all of them filled with loyal ex-citizens of Camelot. Some still wore the remnants of their livery as knights, the Pendragon emblem torn from their clothing. Others were in little more than rags, probably ordinary people of the town who chose bravery and perhaps shouldn’t have done.

There were many reasons why Merlin wouldn’t fight in Cenred’s army of sorcerers. He was looking at one of the main ones. Ordinary people were just so helpless. Magic should be used to defend the weak, not overpower them. If he ever regained access to his own magic he was going to learn to use it properly, not just the little tricks he’d accidently found how to do when he was growing up. And it wouldn’t be used to help someone like Cenred. It would be for someone brave, someone noble. Someone worth fighting for.

“What’re you doing in here?”

Edwin’s angry voice startled him. Merlin spun round, forgetting that he was on a small stool, lost his footing and toppled over, crashing to the floor with a yelp.

“Well?”

Merlin scrambled to his feet, noticing that he’d left a mark on the shutter where he’d been looking out. He’d been working with charcoal, some of his arena patients had been suffering from their poor diet and charcoal was supposed to help. Unfortunately Merlin had been in such a hurry to see what was going on that he hadn’t cleaned his hands. With a sinking heart he saw a black handprint on the door as well. Gilli was behind Edwin and had noticed it too. He didn’t need to look so pleased about it, Merlin thought.

“I was… I just wanted to see the Camelot prisoners.”

“You’ll see them soon enough. Most of them will be heading for the arena. As you should be. Clean up your mess, boy, and don’t come in here again. The cellar, and the stairs at the back, that’s your place. Make sure you know it!”

Merlin knew it. That didn’t mean he had to like it. As he headed off to find a cloth to clean up with, he passed Gilli.

There had been plenty of room. There was no need for Gilli to brush against him like that.

Merlin shuddered inwardly, and fled downstairs.

\---

Essetir was hostile.

Arthur had expected it, it was an enemy kingdom after all. He and his father had been singled out, made to ride at the front of a bizarre victory parade through the city streets. Uther had been beaten again before they’d ridden out. Gaius hadn’t been allowed to treat him and Arthur was fairly sure something was broken inside. Uther didn’t say much. It wasn’t even the spell any more because that had long since worn off. No, Uther had always been first and foremost a king, and having that taken away from him had broken him. Sitting there in the cart with him looking so little like the man Arthur had always looked up to was heartbreaking. It had almost been a relief when they’d arrived at the arena and all been herded inside. Yet he knew there would be worse to come.

At least, Arthur thought it was the arena. Morgana had been taken on to the castle by her new alleged sister, and they’d been told the arena was where they were heading instead. It didn’t look like an arena, or nothing like one that Arthur had ever seen. He was used to the small ones at Camelot that were not much more than a field. Instead, this was a huge structure from what he could see of it. Made of stone, built to last like a castle would, this was no temporary area for a small tournament. He didn’t have a chance to see what the interior was like because as soon as they were outside it the guards opened the cages one at a time and drove the prisoners towards a narrow tunnel leading down under the arena.

“First door on the right!” one of the guards yelled at them. “Keep moving!”

Dungeons, Arthur supposed. Much like they’d had at Camelot only larger. By the look of it the cells would be directly under the arena. He wondered how many other kings and princes had been taken there, and whether any of them had ever come out? His hands were still bound, and it was very difficult to help his father as the older man stumbled and almost fell. He was so weak that Arthur barely recognised him.

“Come on, Father,” Arthur urged. “Not much further to go.” He tried to lean in and take some of Uther’s weight but he wasn’t sure how much it helped. Behind them he could hear the next group of prisoners coming down the tunnel. He thought he could hear Leon’s voice amongst them. A few moments later and the tall knight was at his side, Sir Kay with him.

“Arthur, let us help.”

Kay’s hands weren’t bound and nor were Leon’s. The two knights supported Uther between them and helped him down the corridor. The guards, Arthur noticed, hadn’t even spotted that the men were free. They were still outside, driving the other prisoners in.

“How did you get free?” Arthur whispered.

Kay shrugged. “They cut us loose right before pushing us down here. No chance to fight back – the others are all still caged. We could’ve tried to fight but they’re holding women and children.”

“Better than any knife to our throats,” Leon confirmed. “There was nothing we could do and it’s the same for the others.”

The tunnel was widening out a little and Arthur could see several more guards up ahead. They were lit by the torches on the wall. One of them was holding a door open.

“In here!” the guard called. “Move!”

Arthur hesitated, trying to think of a way the two knights and himself could overpower the guards. They didn’t look particularly competent, probably employed for their brawn rather than their brain. That was the thing with the knights of Camelot, they were all trained to think. That made them hard to defeat.

Unless you had an army of sorcerers of course…

But Uther was going to slow them all down in his current state, and anyway where could they go? The tunnel behind had more prisoners and guards, and beyond that lay the city of Essetir and all its hostility. Running further under the arena hardly seemed like a good idea. Reluctantly Arthur headed for the open door. He held out his bound hands to the guard before going in.

“Unchain me.”

The man just laughed at him and shoved him through the doorway.

“In there first, your highness! Enjoy your new kingdom!”

It was a cell, of course. Quite a large one, looking as if it could hold a group rather than an individual. Sure enough Leon, Kay and Uther joined him a few moments later. Then the door slammed shut behind them. Only then did the guard beckon Arthur over and free him from the chains, Uther too.

It was another cage really. There weren’t walls as such at the front of the cell, just bars separating them from the guards and the other prisoners walking past. Thick, sturdy pillars were dotted throughout, supporting the ceiling. Arthur wondered just how solid and supported it was if there was an entire arena above them. But then it was probably just as solid as the dungeons of Camelot. The surrounding walls were built of stone. The whole place was built to last.

But it stank. The dungeons of Camelot at least had been cleaned once in a while, if only to stop the stench of the prisoners from wafting up into the castle. This place had probably never been cleaned since the day it was built. If they didn’t die in the arena they’d surely not last long down there anyway, struck down by some hideous disease.

His father didn’t look as if he’d last long either way. Kay and Leon had helped him sit down over by the far wall, out of the way of the guards as much as possible. There were only four of them in their cell, but Arthur could see at least ten squashed into the cell opposite. He and his father were being kept separate. The guards probably hadn’t wanted to go up against Leon and Kay and that was the only reason that the two knights were in there with them.

Arthur was glad of the company and support. Uther’s condition had worsened on the long journey and the bumpy road had made it difficult to give him any sort of support. The king had been having trouble breathing, and that didn’t seem to have improved since they reached the cell. It was a pity that Gaius hadn’t come in with them. Although Arthur hadn’t seen the elderly physician since leaving Camelot. Doubtless he had been in one of the other carts, but whether he’d survived the journey was another matter. Gaius was strong for his age, remarkably so, but everyone had their limits.

Sir Kay was an accomplished warrior though. And part of that accomplishment had been his ability to look after his men if they were injured. It was one of the many reasons that the older knight was looked up to by the younger ones. Leon had been his squire many years before, and was now the best of the younger knights by a long way, already passing what he’d learned from Sir Kay down to the new knights that had come in. Even Arthur had trained under Kay, moreso even than he’d trained under his father.

Kay was busy now, checking Uther over to ascertain the extent of his injuries. Uther was wincing at every touch. It didn’t look good. And then Kay lifted up Uther’s shirt to get a better look at what was wrong.

There were bluish-black bruises all across his chest. It didn’t take a medical expert to know that there was a good chance one or more of his ribs were broken. Arthur had seen injuries like that before, and seen what could happen.

“That’s not good,” Kay stated. “That’s really not good.”

But then none of it was good. Arthur wondered if it might be a blessing if his father died down there with two loyal knights and his son there to see him out, rather than whatever Cenred had planned for him. He looked to Leon, who was impassive as always.

And that was how Arthur was going to have to be too. His father wouldn’t thank him for the kind of thoughts he’d just had.

He took his father’s hand, and hoped it was some comfort. But he doubted it.

\---

Merlin had always hoped to escape to Camelot one day. Never mind that the king hated magic, and that Merlin carried that particular affliction. He could hide it if he needed to. Camelot at least was away from Cenred and the dark magic that had settled in Essetir. Camelot had brave knights and had won famous battles… at least until Cenred’s magical army had grown up and defeated everyone who stood in their way.

And now Camelot was no more. The great and the good were reduced to the remnants who now languished in the cells beneath Essetir Arena. Sick and wounded among them who would no doubt be the first to be thrown out for Cenred’s entertainment. Those were the ones that were going to need Merlin’s attention first. Those few who had survived the journey carrying existing ailments would not last long in the damp and airless cells beneath the arena. They needed fresh air and somewhere clean and comfortable to recuperate. They weren’t going to get that. Merlin had seen it all before. He knew that he would be able to pick out every single one of those that wouldn’t last more than a few days more. And that was before the stronger ones were sent up to the arena to fight and either came back broken or didn’t come back at all.

Merlin hated visiting the holding area of the arena. It was the place where all the new arrivals were taken before they were divided up into whatever vocations they would have in Essetir. Gladiators, servants, whores, arena fodder… none of the options were particularly good.

In some ways Merlin supposed that he’d been lucky. He’d been made a physician’s apprentice as he’d shown an aptitude for that line of work. Mostly because his mother had been good with herbs and taught him what to do. He certainly hadn’t learned anything from Edwin.

His bag slung over his shoulder, he wandered down the familiar corridor, nodding to the guards as he went. He knew them all, didn’t particularly like any of them because they tended to be harsh and cruel to the prisoners. Once, Merlin had been trying to help a young woman who was delirious with an infection. She’d been crying and screaming at invisible demons. One of the guards had decided he’d had enough of it, shoved Merlin aside and slit the poor woman’s throat. There had been a lot of blood. Merlin knew, he’d had to clean it up.

So it didn’t pay to be on anything but good terms with the guards, no matter what he thought of them. He stopped at the first cell, saw there was an injured prisoner in there, so stood waiting to be let in.

“Wasting your time with that one,” the guard who unlocked the door told him. “He’s dead anyway. That’s Uther Pendragon.”

It had been a name that any sorcerer had feared, and even though Merlin had been hoping to settle in Camelot he still hesitated in the doorway. There were three men in the cell with Uther, and all of them looked pretty strong. One of them he recognised. It was the prince who’d rode through the city with his head held high even in defeat. Arthur Pendragon.

“Who are you?” One of the other men asked. He was a tall man with reddish hair and a beard. Probably one of the famous knights.

“I’m Merlin. I’m a physician’s apprentice, I deal with prisoners brought to the arena. Only here to help.” Merlin strode forward and held out his hand hopefully. Sometimes it worked, sometimes he just couldn’t get through to the captives. Occasionally they got violent and the guards had to step in. Luckily that didn’t happen often. He hoped it wouldn’t happen there.

The knight regarded him for a moment, measuring him up, then must have decided Merlin looked trustworthy and shook his hand.

“Leon. This is Sir Kay, and Prince Arthur. Can you help our king?”

Kay was old and battle-scarred but still looked tough as an ox. Merlin wouldn’t have liked to cross him. He was crouched down beside Uther and barely spared Merlin a glance. “See what you can do, lad. He’s in a bad way.”

Merlin crouched down beside Uther. Uther looked up at him briefly, then over at Arthur.

“Who’s this? Arthur? Who’s this?”

“Apparently we aren’t worthy of a proper physician, just the student,” Arthur told him. He stood there with his arms folded and glared at Merlin.

“I know what I’m doing,” Merlin reassured Uther. “Can I look?”

The king nodded wearily, and Merlin pulled back the filthy, torn shirt that Uther was wearing. He’d obviously suffered at the hands of his captors. Merlin was used to seeing it, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it. Very gently Merlin touched the swollen mass of bruises on Uther’s chest, trying to ascertain whether any ribs were broken. The king hissed with pain, then coughed, which seemed to hurt him more.

“I don’t need a sword to break your neck if you hurt him,” Arthur growled from behind him.

“Difficult to treat him without examining him,” Merlin shot back. “Trying to help, remember?”

“I think he’s got broken ribs,” Kay explained, confirming Merlin’s own assumption. “And there’s more, he keeps coughing really badly, almost to the point that he’s gasping for breath. I’ve seen this sort of injury before...” He looked at Merlin pointedly, not saying the rest out loud in front of the Pendragons but they both knew what he meant. Seen it before and seen it worsen until the patient died.

“I have a potion that helps with the pain,” Merlin offered. “And I could bandage you up, that might help a bit,” he told Uther. “But it’ll hurt, doing it. I’d rather not have my neck broken by your son if it’s all the same to you.”

“Just do what you can,” Uther told him. “You physicians are all brutal. I swear ours enjoyed dishing out the most unpleasant treatment possible for anything that was wrong. But what’s the worst you can do? Kill me? I don’t think your king would appreciate that. He’s got plans for me that involve me being alive.”

Merlin couldn’t help grimacing a little at that. He’d seen the way Cenred executed other rulers. If he could, Merlin stayed as far from the arena as possible when it was happening. But all arena employees were supposed to attend and watch, so all too often Merlin had to join them. It was sickening.

Uther nodded, seeing Merlin’s expression and guessing what it meant. “Yes, I thought so. So, don’t worry, Arthur won’t hurt you. You can look at his arm afterwards… don’t think I haven’t seen that wound you’re carrying, Arthur.”

“It’s nothing,” Arthur shifted the way he’d folded his arms so that now his left arm was mostly covered by the right one.

Merlin worked quickly, not wanting to stay too close to the magic-hating king for long. Even if Uther was powerless now (as was Merlin so long as he was forced to wear the iron bracelets), still he had a fearsome reputation. Uther was brave though, obviously doing his best not to react when Merlin strapped up his ribs. It had to be quite painful, Merlin had more than once been flattened by a patient who lashed out while being worked on. Uther just gritted his teeth and took it. It wasn’t as if the potion would help much either – it was just some crushed herbs but Merlin had found that just the power of suggestion in telling patients it helped with the pain helped somewhat.

“I’ll come back tomorrow and bring more,” Merlin promised.

Uther gave a bitter little laugh at that. “Well thank you… what was your name?”

“Merlin, sire.”

“Merlin… well I don’t think I’ll need your help tomorrow. But you’ve helped. You’ll make a good physician. See to Arthur now.”

Merlin stood up, because there was nothing he could say to that. He knew as well as Uther that the king wouldn’t be alive the next day. He turned to Arthur and held out a hand again.

[ ](https://imgur.com/tTlHADg)

“Let me see your arm.”

Arthur glared at him as if Merlin had just insulted him in some way.

“Arthur…” warned Kay.

Kay obviously had some sway in there. Perhaps he was a senior knight or had trained the prince or something. Whatever it was, Arthur reluctantly stuck his arm out.

“It’s nothing.”

It was a nasty cut that was going to get infected if Arthur wasn’t careful. At least it wasn’t too deep and didn’t need stitching. Merlin worked quickly, putting a herb poultice on it and covering it as best he could.

“Take that off after a few hours,” Merlin advised. “It should heal on its own.”

Arthur didn’t look grateful. He was gazing coldly at the iron bindings on Merlin’s wrists.

“You have magic.”

“I was born with it,” Merlin confirmed, ducking his head so that he didn’t have to look at the expression on Arthur’s face. “Cenred took it from me because I wouldn’t use it against innocent people. So I’m a slave, just like you.”

“I’m nobody’s slave, Merlin,” Arthur told him furiously. “I’m the son of the rightful king of Camelot and I’m a prisoner here. Nothing more, nothing less.” He tugged his arm out of Merlin’s grasp. “I don’t need a magic user working on me. For all I know you’re just one of Cenred’s spies, here to weaken me and my father and my men so that we die in the arena.”

“I’m not,” Merlin insisted, but Arthur was already getting up and walking away to the back of the cell. The two knights were eyeing Merlin suspiciously, and he worried they might be led by Arthur’s reaction. He didn’t dare look at Uther. But then Kay nodded to Merlin.

“Thanks for your help, lad.”

“Neither of you are injured?” Merlin checked, speaking to Leon and Kay.

“We’re fine,” Leon confirmed. “Thank you for helping.”

Merlin kept a mental note of prisoners who were good, decent people and watched out for them when they got injured. This Leon was definitely one of those people. He would probably end up with the gladiators so Merlin decided to mention him to Gwaine. At least then there’d be a friendly face waiting for Leon. Kay too, he also seemed decent enough. Perhaps Arthur was as well, but it was impossible to tell beneath the hostile wall he was putting up. And even King Uther didn’t seem to be so bad, but then that wasn’t unusual. Tyrants sometimes found their humanity when their time was up.

Merlin knew he had plenty of other patients in the other cells, so didn’t waste any time heading for the door so that the guard could let him out. But he did spare the doomed king and his son one last look and raised a hand in farewell.

He doubted he’d see either of them again.

\---

Arthur watched the young physician’s apprentice leave. The insolent pup had even had the cheek to wave at them when he left!

“We’re probably going to start rolling on the floor and foaming at the mouth,” Arthur grumbled, sitting down beside his father. “He had magic. You shouldn’t have let him treat us!”

Uther sighed wearily. “And you need to see when help is genuine. That boy is a bound slave. I’d heard about them but didn’t believe it. Sorcerers who won’t swear allegiance to Cenred. Cenred can’t have them free to join up with some other king, and he can’t have them executed because that would make him worse than me!” he gave a bitter laugh. “Not yet anyway. Coming in here would be the worst job. Nobody would want to do it. He wouldn’t have been able to defend himself if one of you attacked him.”

“How do we know that’s not just a trick?” Arthur grumbled. He might have been wrong and he didn’t like it. “He might be trying to gain our trust, and then there’s magic wrapped up in this” – he poked at his bandage… though not too hard because it did feel better than it had done – “and anything could happen!”

He could hear Merlin in the next cell, talking to what sounded like Galahad. There was the clang of the cell door again. Merlin had to be moving on. That boded well. Perhaps those in the next cell weren’t injured.

It was difficult not knowing who was hurt, who still alive and who was not. So many of their people had been herded past whilst he had been more interested in taking care of his father. After that there had been no opportunity to tell who was there. He’d tried calling out to some of those he thought might still be alive. Galahad had answered but there had been no response from Bedivere, Monmouth or Gaius. Perhaps they were in cells too far off to hear. Or perhaps they hadn’t made it.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Uther advised. “The boy did a good job. I feel better. If he comes by again just let him treat you. He’s not one of the ones you need to worry about.”

Arthur grunted irritably, but didn’t comment.

“You need to make friends,” Uther continued quietly, gesturing for Leon and Kay to come closer as well. The two knights crouched down in front of their king, still loyal. “The only way that the three of you can live through this is to make allies. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps there _are_ sorcerers who have some good in them, though I sorely doubt it. Morgana… she has magic through her witch of a mother. Perhaps she is a path out of here?”

“You’re saying we should ally with _sorcerers?”_ Arthur exclaimed. “Morgana isn’t a sorcerer! She just has dreams. She’s just a seer! It’s not like… proper sorcery! No, we can fight, we can get out of here!” he went to get to his feet, not sure what he intended doing but anything rather than listen to that defeatist, treasonous talk. That Merlin had enchanted his father, it was plain to see.

“Arthur,” Uther grabbed his arm, “sit. Magic is all the same. Your sister is a sorcerer the same as that physician boy and the same as that blonde witch Cenred has leading his army. It’s just different levels of ability. That’s why it’s so dangerous and that’s why I banned it. You don’t know if you’re dealing with a relatively harmless seer like your sister, or with the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth. The only way to be sure was to ban them all. But we’re here,” he looked around the cell. “This is what we’ve come to. I’ve conquered enough kingdoms to know what it looks like and I can see how it happened. We made ourselves weak. _I _made us weak. But you, Arthur, you’re going to make us strong. And from now on when you see those like that boy, the ones who wouldn’t swear allegiance to Cenred, don’t look on them as enemies. Potential allies.”

“Friends,” Arthur sighed.

“Well I wouldn’t go that far!” Uther exclaimed. “But work with them. Get out of here alive, Arthur, and rebuild Camelot for me. That’s my final order to you.”

“We’ll get out together,” Arthur insisted, hating the implication behind his father’s words. “We’ll find a way.”

But Uther just leaned his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes.

\---

The citizens of Camelot, their royal family aside, were healthier than most of the prisoners that Merlin saw after an invasion. There were a few who were injured, or had fallen ill, but most of them were reasonably healthy. It probably was because of the nature of the defeat. There had been no bloodshed, just a completely irresistible spell.

Merlin often wondered what his own magic would have been like if he had been allowed to continue using it into adulthood. What if he’d even been able to study like many youngsters at Essetir could? What might he have become? It had been four long years since Cenred had started to round up all the sorcerers. Recruitment, it had been called. But in its way it had been not much better than King Uther’s cull. For those like Merlin who hadn’t wanted to join an army it was simply enslavement.

He made his way into the fifth cell. Like the others it held a small group of captives, mostly those who had previously worked for the royal household in some capacity. That one had a furious-looking woman sitting on the floor near the door. She didn’t look as if she needed medical help but he was concerned that _he_ might if he went anywhere near her. But beyond her was an elderly man lying on his side on the straw-covered floor. He was pale and coughing hard. Definitely in need of Merlin’s help.

“Who’re you?” the woman demanded as soon as Merlin slipped through the door. “I shouldn’t be in here. Professional cook, me. Served King Uther himself! Haven’t done anything wrong! When am I being let out?”

“I don’t know, I’m just the physician’s assistant. Are you injured?”

“No but you will be if you come near me! Assistant! Humph! Where’s the person in charge? I shouldn’t be locked up!”

Sighing, Merlin headed for the old man instead. Everyone else in there looked wary but nobody else was actually sending him away. There was another woman sitting near the sick man, and she looked up at Merlin’s approach.

“Can you help him? He was our physician, he’s always helped us townspeople. If you’re a physician too, you’ll help your own, surely?”

Their physician. Merlin crouched down beside the man. He knew who this was likely to be. The man he should have been apprenticed to.

“I’ll try. What’s his name?”

“Gaius. And I’m Rose. He’s been like this since the journey. The wagons were cold and he’s an old man. Please help him.”

“Gaius?”

The old man looked pale and tired, a wracking cough shaking his body. Merlin knew that sound. Sometimes in the winter a villager would be taken ill and not recover. They’d have that deep, hacking cough that settled in their lungs and wouldn’t go away. It was late spring but Gaius had it now, probably from the long cold journey from Camelot and then the poor conditions in the cells.

“Gaius, I’m Merlin, Hunith’s son.”

He wasn’t even sure if the old man could hear him. It was probably too late for Merlin to be of any help. If he still had his magic then he could have tried, but as it was all he could do was grind herbs and try to get Gaius to drink the healing potions that he carried. He could go back and make more, but it probably wouldn’t do any good.

Amongst those who had been there longer, prisoners from other kingdoms, Gaius wouldn’t even have been the one in the worst state. And Merlin worked alone because Edwin would never lower himself to bother with the slaves. After all, as Edwin pointed out many times, they were all going to die in the arena anyway.

Merlin didn’t want any of them to die. Especially these people from the land that he was supposed to have made his home.

If he was honest, he particularly didn’t want the proud, handsome prince to die, or to see his father die. The king whose men still stuck by him even though things were hopeless. Merlin knew that Cenred would never inspire such loyalty in anyone. Unexpectedly, it said a lot for Uther Pendragon that even in defeat some of his people stayed loyal.

“Can you help him?” Rose asked. “Gaius helped me get through the sleeping sickness last winter. He’s a good man.”

“I’ll try,” Merlin promised. “Gaius, can you hear me? I need you to drink this.”

He tried to get the old man to drink the contents of one of the small potion bottles he had in his bag. Merlin wasn’t even sure it was the right one. He brought mostly things to ease pain and help with injuries. Sickness tended to be something that did not befall the newcomers as a rule. That came later because the sick, tended to be left behind before the journey to Essetir. And they rarely fell sick en route to Essetir in the late spring and summer. It was a shame. Merlin would have liked to get to know Gaius. It didn’t look as if he were going to get the chance.

Behind them, out in the corridor that led back to the outside world, there was a bit of a commotion. Merlin tried to ignore it. He was used to people coming and going, and sometimes there was shouting. Often it was from the prisoners being led out to new lives of servitude. They didn’t seem to realise that they were the lucky ones. The ones that were left would end up as some form of arena entertainment. Gaius and Rose, and the grumpy cook too, would doubtless all share that fate. Although Gaius was doing a fine job of finding his own way out.

“Out of my way!”

Merlin did pay attention to that. It was a commanding voice, probably more senior than any of the guards. There was the sound of footsteps coming towards them. It was probably someone coming for the king, Merlin realised. He hadn’t thought it would be quite that soon. Usually they were only moved once the arena was filling up.

Giving Rose the bottle and letting her take over trying to get the contents into Gaius, Merlin got up and hurried over to the door.

“What’s going on?” he asked the guard outside, who just shrugged.

“No idea… Ah. You don’t see that every day!” The guard pointed down the corridor, where a dark-haired man in a heavy bottle-green cloak was striding towards them. The man wasn’t extraordinary-looking in himself, what was unusual was the small white dragon trotting happily along behind him.

“Gaius!” the man bellowed. “I’m looking for Gaius!”

“Is he here to kill him?” Rose whispered. She’d run to Merlin’s side when she’d heard Gaius’ name being called. “But why? Gaius is a good man.”

Merlin had seen the man before. It was Lord Balinor, the king’s dragonlord. He was feared throughout Essetir, simply because of what he was. Balinor had never, as far as Merlin could tell, done anything particularly cruel or murderous. But the great dragon, the head of the herd and the one Balinor normally rode, he could be murderous. There were stories about him eating sheep and cattle, and a few more far-fetched ones about him stealing babies from their cots and swallowing them whole, just leaving the empty crib. Merlin wasn’t quite sure how true those last ones were, for one thing surely a dragon would want to eat something a bit bigger? And wouldn’t they destroy the crib at the same time? The dragon didn’t look as if it was a particularly delicate eater…

“You! Boy!” Balinor had caught sight of Merlin, and pointed at him. “Where’s Gaius?”

“Merlin’s our physician,” the guard attempted bravely. Balinor glared at him and the man quailed beneath the dragonlord’s steely gaze, then scrambled to open the door to the cell. The little white dragon behind Balinor chirruped and bounced up and down.

Great, Merlin thought. He was going to end up being dragon fodder and wouldn’t even have the dignity of the thing being a full-sized one. What a way to go. At least the cook seemed to have shut up. She was eyeing the little dragon fearfully.

“Think that’s Gaius,” the guard pointed at the old physician lying at the back of the cell. “Think I heard them call him that. He’s half-dead.”

“He’d better not be!” Balinor boomed, striding into the cell with his dragon in tow. His gruff demeanour immediately softened when he saw the old man.

Merlin saw the cook flatten herself against the far wall, trying to keep as far away from the creature as possible. She wasn’t alone. Most of the other inhabitants of the cell were keeping their distance. Merlin found himself alone in the centre of the cell, Rose at least was bravely standing beside Gaius, though he saw her flinch when Balinor walked over to the man.

“Gaius. It _is_ you!” Balinor crouched down beside him, carefully turning him over. “Ah, what have they done to you, old friend?”

Behind him, the little dragon sniffed the air, then to Merlin’s horror the creature bounced over to him and trilled happily.

“Hush, Aithusa,” Balinor ordered without looking around. “Boy, come here.”

Merlin assumed that meant him, so crouched down beside the dragonlord. He was aware that Aithusa had followed him and was now nudging his back with her snout. Sizing him up for a snack, no doubt. Merlin tried to ignore it. It was a very small dragon. Perhaps it hadn’t moved onto solid food yet.

“What have you tried?” Balinor asked. He was still talking gently though Merlin assumed that was for Gaius’ sake.

“I only arrived shortly before you,” Merlin admitted. “I’ve tried a potion to bring down fever,” he handed over the bottle. Balinor sniffed it and grimaced.

“That won’t help. Who’s teaching you, boy?”

“Edwin Muir, Sir.”

“That charlatan?” Balinor exclaimed. “Is there pig’s urine in this?”

Merlin reluctantly nodded. It wasn’t his first choice of remedy. His mother had taught him far better ones using herbs but Edwin wouldn’t let Merlin use those. “He says it brings fever down.”

“Complete nonsense. Use elderflower, yarrow and lemon balm. This man taught me that” – Balinor gestured towards Gaius –“and plenty more besides.”

“You were at Camelot?” Merlin asked, surprised.

“Of course not!” Balinor snapped, then continued in the gentler tone that he had been using since reaching Gaius. It was clearly something he struggled with as the gruffness still kept slipping in. “Uther would have liked me to be there, though, along with all my kind. His purge tried to wipe out all the dragonlords and their kin. Gaius here hid me and helped me get away. So we’re not letting him die, boy. He’s coming with me.”

That was unexpected. Gaius was a popular man, it seemed.

“I was supposed to go to Camelot and be his apprentice,” Merlin told Balinor. “My mother was an old friend of his. She would have made the elderflower remedy as well. Ow!” Aithusa poked him in the back a little harder, wanting attention.

“You’d have done a lot better with him than with Edwin Muir,” Balinor confirmed. “Well you can help me get him out of here and perhaps one day you’ll get that training after all.”

Aithusa squawked loudly and suddenly sprang up, landing on Merlin’s back and then clambering onto his shoulder. The dragon was heavier than it looked and Merlin swayed a little, giving a gasp of surprise.

[ ](https://imgur.com/f4ImhEB)

“Is he going to eat me?”

Balinor laughed at that. “I don’t think so! _She_ seems to like you, boy. Got dragonlord blood in you or something?”

Merlin shook his head, then flinched as Aithusa stretched and flapped her tiny wings.

“Heel, Aithusa!” Balinor ordered.

Aithusa did not leave her perch on Merlin’s shoulder. He could feel her claws digging in. And then she stretched again, leaned forward and breathed cold fire over Gaius.

“No!”

Forgetting his nervousness, Merlin grabbed the little dragon with both hands and pulled her off his shoulder, holding her out in front of him. She opened her mouth and chided him with a lengthy burst of angry chirruping, and he almost dropped her. He’d thought he was about to get a burst of the fiery breath as well.

Except it hadn’t been hot, and it didn’t appear to have harmed Gaius. Quite the opposite. The old man seemed to have gained a little colour and was looking around at them all with more comprehension than he had a moment before.

“Well that wasn’t what I meant, but good girl,” Balinor chuckled, reaching out to stroke Aithusa gently on the top of the head. The little dragon practically purred with delight.

She was a little bit adorable, Merlin allowed, putting her down gently on the floor in front of him. And she did seem to have helped his patient. Merlin tried to check on Gaius but Aithusa immediately ran up to him and rubbed her head against his knee.

“Can they heal people?” Merlin asked, fascinated. “Is that what she did?”

“Dragon magic, boy,” Balinor confirmed. “Amazing beasts. Aithusa likes you. Just rub the top of her head like I did, that’s what she’s after. Likes lots of attention, she’s totally spoiled.”

Merlin tentatively reached out and gently rubbed the top of Aithusa’s head. The little dragon chirruped happily, and tried to snuggle closer. Balinor shook his head, fondly.

“Silly creature. Well you’ve got a friend for life there, boy. Wait till she’s grown, it’s not a bad thing to have a full-sized dragon on your side.”

Aithusa was trying to jump up again, and so Merlin picked her up and put her back on his shoulder. He had a feeling that it wouldn’t be a particularly bad thing to have a full-sized dragonlord on his side either. Balinor was gruff but likeable. Perhaps there was some chance, if Merlin could make himself useful enough, that Balinor would buy him from Edwin in the future. That would be good in so many ways.

Balinor smiled at him. “This is a good day all round. That little pest follows me everywhere, always under my feet. I could do with a babysitter for her. You like working for Edwin, boy?”

Merlin shook his head, and held out his hands, showing the iron cuffs. “He owns me.”

Balinor’s smile faded. “Nobody owns anyone. I’ll see what I can do. I could use you. Maybe you could get that apprenticeship with Gaius here after all.”

“That would be amazing,” Merlin breathed. Aithusa chirruped in happy agreement.

Gaius groaned, and started to sit up, distracting them both.

“Gaius, remember me?” Balinor asked.

“Balinor? You’re alive?”

Aithusa’s healing power was quite remarkable for one so small. Merlin heard Rose give a little exclamation, and exchanged a pleased smile with her.

“More than you were by the looks of it,” Balinor replied. “My dragon healed you.”

Gaius gazed at the small white dragon, then back at Balinor. “What?”

“We’re taking him out of here,” Balinor announced, getting up and calling to the guards. “Guards, let us out. I’m taking the old man.”

“We’re not supposed to let anyone out yet,” the door guard told him nervously.

“You want me to bring the great dragon down here instead of this little hatchling?” Balinor warned.

“No Sir.”

Gaius was doing well, but he really wasn’t in any fit state to walk. Merlin set Aithusa down, and tried to help Gaius up. Rose immediately darted in to support Gaius on the other side.

“Nobody else,” Balinor warned.

Merlin glanced at Rose. He couldn’t save everyone. But he could make a difference to one person, and that was a start.

“But this lady has been nursing him while he was sick!” he nodded to Rose, trying to let her know that she should stay where she was. “It’s best to have someone you know there when you’re recovering. You’ll be busy doing… dragon things.”

Balinor raised an eyebrow.

“Or whatever you do. She can sit with him.”

“Fine, we’ll take her too,” Balinor snapped. “Come on.”

Rose looked fearfully at Merlin and he nodded at her reassuringly again, hoping that she had the sense not to argue.

Slowly they all made their way out, Aithusa chirruping happily behind them. The guards, Merlin noticed, kept well away from the little dragon.

Merlin tried not to look around as they passed the cell that held the Pendragons. But he could feel Arthur’s eyes on him all the same.

\---

Morgana felt like a bird in a gilded cage.

She’d been given a room at the castle, a fine room with a comfortable bed and a view out onto the courtyard below. A queen’s room, Morgause had said. Morgana didn’t feel like a queen. It would be more appropriate to call her a pawn.

Later Morgana was to go down and eat with her captors. Or, as they referred to themselves, with Morgana’s sister and her fiancé. Plans were already being drawn up for the wedding. A couple of seamstresses had come in and measured her for a fine dress. But until then she expected to be alone.

Essetir might be vast and strong compared to Camelot. But in Camelot there had always been people coming and going. She could go out to ride if she wanted. Uther had even pandered to her desire to learn a few weapons. There weren’t many better with the bow and arrow than Morgana. There would be no chance of that in Essetir. Cenred would, with good reason, think she might use the bow and arrow to kill him. It was a tempting thought.

Cenred himself didn’t appear to have magic. Strange then that he was the king. Morgause would have been a better choice. She appeared to have vast magical powers that were immensely strong. It was also strange, for much the same reason, that she wasn’t the one being chosen as queen. Perhaps it was just political, as they said. Still, it made little sense. Why not have Morgause as queen, and if she wanted a political alliance with Camelot then she could be married to Arthur? Yet Morgana could see how that wouldn’t work. No matter the reality, men would always be imagined the stronger.

Outside, she heard footsteps tapping along the corridor, stopping outside her room. There was a short, sharp knock on the door, right before it opened. Privacy was one of those things Morgana supposed she would be getting just as soon as she’d accepted what a wonderful place Essetir was. Until then…

Morgause strode into the room, the same faux-friendly smile on her face that she wore whenever she spoke to Morgana.

“Sister, I hope you’re settling in?”

Morgana wasn’t stupid. She knew that she would achieve nothing by being obstinate.

“The room is to my liking.”

“I thought it would be. Mine is just along the corridor, so I’ll be nearby if you need anything.”

Morgana hoped that didn’t mean that she would have to listen to Morgause and Cenred having sex. Though better Morgause than her.

“How reassuring.”

Morgause’s smile faltered just for a moment, then was back.

“We’ve arranged for you to have your own maid.”

“From Camelot?” Morgana asked hopefully. “Rachel?” She hadn’t seen her maid amongst the prisoners but that meant nothing. There had been so many of them.

“Not unless she swore loyalty to Cenred. Anyway, the Camelot traitors have all been sold off. She’ll have been given appropriate work.”

Morgana didn’t want to know, she really didn’t. Dear sweet Rachel who had sat with her during the nights when her dreams had been too much. Rachel, who had been betrothed to one of the knights and all excited about her wedding. She’d elected to stay with him when Morgana had left with Arthur. Anything could have happened. Morgana hadn’t seen the knight amongst the prisoners either. Perhaps they’d escaped together. She hoped so.

“If she’s in Essetir I would very much like her to have a kind mistress,” Morgana said, choosing her words very carefully. “She was always kind to me, never betrayed my confidences. She was sympathetic when my dreams were bad, yet she must have known they were magic. Please, she’s no traitor.”

“I could make enquiries. As a favour. And in return?”

All favours had a price. Of course they did. “What is it you want?”

“For the maid? I think a smiling, happy princess in public, glad to be marrying Essetir’s beloved king. That would be appreciated by the people I think. That’s not so very hard, is it? Smiling at people who will grow to love you?”

It wasn’t, as possible favours went. Though Morgana suspected it was just the start of the things she would be asked to do.

“I doubt he’s beloved, but I agree.”

“Good.” The too-pleasant smile was back in place. “I can see we will get along well together. Now, would you like to choose your new maid? Many of the girls from the city were very keen to take on the position but we’ve shortened the list down to just ten.”

Ten girls who doubtless would do everything Cenred and Morgause told them to. Morgana did not expect any of them to be someone that she herself would choose.

“I’m sure they’re all exactly what I’d want.”

“Please, sister,” Morgause put a gentle hand on Morgana’s arm. Morgana resisted the urge to shake it off. “We’re trying to make you feel at home. And we’ve specifically selected girls who haven’t worked in the castle before rather than just given you one of my maids. This is a great honour for those girls. At least come and meet them.”

Reluctantly, Morgana agreed. If nothing else it got her out of the tedious boredom of being alone in her room with her thoughts, dark and depressing as they were. It seemed to please Morgause anyway, and Morgana followed her out.

The stone staircase nearest Morgana’s room led down almost into the courtyard itself. Only a heavy door in the corridor there stood between her and the outside world. Morgause didn’t take her out there though. Instead Morgana was led along the corridor, into a large hall. It might have been the throne room but it was difficult to tell. There was a large chair at one end, heavily decorated. But then everything at Essetir was so elaborate. Such a waste of money.

There were ten women standing in a row in the centre of the hall. They varied in age and also in dress. Some were smart, obviously already having some form of employment that was good enough that they could afford decent clothing. Most of the girls wore dresses that were patched in places, or fraying at the hems. Those would be the ones Morgana preferred, she knew at a glance. But then, it could be a trick and Morgause’s preferred candidates might be in the rags just to fool her.

“Remember our agreement,” Morgause whispered as they approached the line. “Smile.”

So Morgana smiled. She smiled so widely that her face hurt. It felt fake. But the prospective maids all dutifully smiled back, and straightened, awaiting inspection.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” Morgana began. She could do this quite easily. Uther had often let her lead on events involving the common people, and she’d loved doing so. And in return they’d all loved her right back. Often she’d ridden through the lower town and been stopped by someone whom she’d met at one of those events. She’d done her best to remember their names, and nearly always got it right. And now she might hate Cenred and Morgause, but that wasn’t the fault of their people.

“I’m in need of a maid,” Morgana continued. “All of you look so lovely today and I’m sure any one of you would be more than capable. It will be so hard for me to choose. Would you all mind terribly if I ask a few questions to help me decide? I’ll be spending so much time with one of you in the future, I think we’ll both be happier if we’re compatible.”

Most of the women either said “Yes, milady,” or nodded their heads. The smarter ones seemed less enthusiastic. Morgana soon found out why.

“I’ve been in service most of my life and have been taught by the best,” one of them told her. “The lady Clowance prefers it if we are silent when serving her. I prefer this too.”

Morgana did not.

Some of the other girls had very little experience, and one or two didn’t seem particularly trustworthy. It was just a feeling, but Morgana had learned to go with her feelings. None of the prospective maids had stood out at all for her. Possibly the one called Anna, who had been a little chattier and friendlier than most. But there was one girl left. Possibly her dress was the most patched of all, but the mending had been skilfully done. She gave a little curtsey as Morgana stepped in front of her, and looked up with a wonderfully sweet and open expression on her pretty face.

“And what’s your name?” Morgana asked. The same sense that had been telling her to reject several of the others was definitely telling her to hear this one out.

“Gwen Smith, my lady.”

A nice, calming voice. The girl reminded her a little of Rachel. A good sign. “Hello Gwen, thank you for coming. Could you tell me a little about yourself?”

Gwen glanced around at the other girls nervously, then back at Morgana. “I worked as a maid before” – she looked quickly at Morgause – “before I came to Essetir. I was a ladies maid for several years in a noble household.”

Before whichever kingdom she came from was swallowed up by Essetir, Morgana supposed.

“I’m working as one of the serving girls in the arena now,” Gwen continued. Apparently that wasn’t a good thing because several of the other girls made disapproving noises.

“I’m sure the princess isn’t looking for _that_ sort of maid!” the candidate who had worked for lady Clowance exclaimed. “The nerve!”

“I think the princess is quite capable of making her own mind up,” Morgana said sharply. “Please Gwen, continue.”

“I only serve food, that’s all. I am a respectable woman. I work up in one of the kitchens there. My brother is a gladiator and I wanted to be near him.”

That was quite enough for Morgana. “Thank you, Gwen. Well, I believe _my_ brother is also to be a gladiator. Please give him my love if you see him. And he likes honey cakes, if you make those here. Tell me, if you wanted to be near your brother why are you applying here?”

“He doesn’t like me being near the arena. It’s not without risks and of course there are always assumptions made,” she glanced back at Lady Clowance’s maid. “He wanted me to apply.”

Again there was that sweet little smile. Adorable. If it was an act then it was a very good one.

Morgana had made her mind up. It wasn’t a difficult choice.

\---

Uther, Arthur, Leon and Kay spent the night in the cell.

Arthur had slept in more uncomfortable places, after all he had led his father’s knights on many a mission. But there had never been anywhere more bleak and foreboding.

The worst part was when people were taken away. Every time someone new appeared in the corridor outside, Arthur had a horrible sense of foreboding. Any of them could be the one to lead his father out to his death. Helplessness did not sit well with Arthur. He was a man of action, and being locked up took that away from him.

Merlin had said that he was a slave, and had held up those grim iron cuffs that he wore. Arthur hadn’t been sure, but he could see the truth of it after a few hours. His people were being picked off, one by one. One trader seemed to be in charge of it all, and was keenly haggling with everyone that he brought in there. Julius Borden was his name. Arthur committed it to memory, because as far as he was concerned there was nothing worse than what that man was doing and if Arthur could ever find a way to get revenge on the worst of Cenred’s people, Julius would be near the top of his hit list. He could hear prices being offered to the buyers, and his people being spoken about as if they were nothing more than cattle at an auction. Then he would see those people being led out protesting or crying, depending on what they believed that they had been bought for. Others, Arthur included, would add to the shouting and protests at every single one of them. It did no good. Borden had actually started smirking at him every time a new prisoner was sold. It was galling.

At least the man with the dragon didn’t appear to have actually purchased Gaius. He had seemed to be someone of power, and perhaps could simply take whoever he wanted. Though he’d seemed to know Gaius. Arthur had asked his father how that was possible when the man was a dragonlord, but Uther just shook his head and just muttered something about Gaius having sworn decades before that he’d given up magic. It wasn’t really any sort of satisfactory answer and raised more questions.

In the morning some of the knights started to be taken away.

Galahad was one of the ones that went. There was still no sign of Bedivere, and most of the others were knights that Arthur had never rated particularly highly. He had a horrible feeling that most of the more highly skilled knights, those that hadn’t been killed when he’d been captured, were now dead.

Finally the door to their own cell was opened. Arthur stood up, ready to fight if he had to. Fighting, however, was impossible. He found that he couldn’t move.

The blonde sorceress who had led the attack on Camelot stood in the doorway of the cell, her hand raised and eyes glowing a fiery gold.

“Morgause,” Uther sighed. “What have you done with Morgana?”

“I wouldn’t worry about my sister,” Morgause advised. “Worry about yourself. Say your goodbyes to your son, you won’t be seeing him again.”

Arthur fought desperately against the magic but it held him firmly in its grip. His father, stronger since Merlin’s visit the previous day, got to his feet and clasped Arthur firmly on both shoulders, then drew him in for a warm embrace.

Arthur couldn’t even return it.

“I won’t waste my breath asking her to release you,” Uther told him. “Be strong, Arthur. And remember, I always have, and always will be, so very proud of you. I couldn’t wish for a better son.”

Arthur stared at his father, trying to convey with his eyes how much that meant to him. How much he loved and admired him. But that final goodbye was taken away from him. He could only watch as his father was led away.

Only when the door to the cell closed, and the magic released him, could he move again. But by then his father was long gone.

\---


	3. Chapter 3

It was arena day.

Merlin was late, he hadn’t returned from Balinor’s estate until after nightfall and had not had much time to replenish his potions and salves after that. Edwin had been furious of course, and only several gold coins from Balinor to pay for Merlin’s time had appeased him.

It was far more than Merlin had ever earned in a single day in all his time in Essetir, not that any of it actually went to him. Edwin always took the lot. True, there was some income from his work at the arena but Merlin never saw any of that and suspected it was a pittance anyway. Edwin always claimed that it was and that Merlin wasn’t worth the amount he cost in food (which wasn’t true because Edwin barely fed him and if it wasn’t for Gwaine and the gladiators letting him share their food he would probably be half-starved. Merlin was quite sure the gold from Balinor was more than Edwin was paid by the arena though.

The first arena show after a new kingdom was conquered always drew huge crowds. There would be the execution of the king to watch, for those who liked that sort of thing. Merlin did not. There would also be the deaths of those who hadn’t been sold as slaves or put into the gladiator schools. That was even worse. It was usually older people or the sick. Merlin definitely didn’t want to see that. They’d probably end up as wyvern fodder as that seemed to be a popular sideshow.

Balinor didn’t keep wyverns. He’d chatted to Merlin a little about different sorts of dragons on the ride over to his estate, still keen to have Merlin come and work with him. He told Merlin that wyverns weren’t proper dragons and nasty vicious little things, difficult to control even for a dragonlord. His estate had been huge, set on the outskirts of Essetir on a gently rising hillside. It had to be vast because Balinor had several dragons, including the largest of all of them. Kilgharrah, Balinor had called him. Merlin had seen the huge creature sitting up at the top of the hill, watching them. He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or disappointed that the beast didn’t come down to see them while he was there.

Gaius and Rose seemed to be safe enough when Merlin left. Gaius had fallen into a healthy, healing sleep almost as soon as he’d been given a room and comfortable bed. Rose had stood there not sure what to do, but Balinor’s manservant soon found her some work. Apparently Balinor wasn’t particularly good about practical things such as staff employment, and the manservant was delighted to have some help.

It was the manservant who had brought Merlin home, under instructions from Balinor. There had been wails of dismay from Aithusa, who had tried to run after their horses. It was lucky that she couldn’t fly yet. Balinor had called her back, eventually using a deep, powerful voice that she couldn’t resist. Dragonlord language. The power in it had sent shivers down Merlin’s spine. Perhaps if the man himself had accompanied them then he could have used that voice on Edwin, and Edwin would have obeyed and not been so unpleasant. Everyone in Essetir was wary of the dragonlords, and Balinor was the leader of them. He commanded the great dragon after all. After hearing him, Merlin could understand why.

Merlin didn’t bother going to the cages where he’d visited the Camelot captives the day before. He knew from past experience that on arena day they would all be gone, moved to whatever holding area they’d be in before the arena show. Instead he headed as he always did, down towards the gladiators. Gwaine and Lancelot had become good friends since their initial fight, and Merlin wasn’t surprised to find them sitting together in the waiting area, talking to Ellie who had been supposedly bringing them food. There was no sign of Gwen.

Lancelot’s injury had healed up well. There was a healthy looking pink scar but aside from that he was unharmed. Certainly he had been deemed fit to fight that day. He was sitting with Gwen’s brother, Elyan. Merlin wasn’t too surprised to see that. Elyan and Gwaine were friends anyway and two of the most popular gladiators with the crowds. Lancelot would of course want to be on Gwen’s brother’s good side. Seeing Merlin approach he raised a hand, which was a good sign that he really was healing and wasn’t being thrown back into the arena too early.

“Merlin!”

Merlin smiled and went over to them. “Lancelot. Good to see you’re looking better.”

“Looking too good,” Gwaine grumbled. “Better not try to woo the ladies in the crowd away from me!”

“And you’d better not try too hard to get them to like you,” Ellie warned, giving him a quick kiss then pulling away. “Now let me go, I have to work.”

“See you later though?” Gwaine asked hopefully.

“Just make sure you win,” she agreed. “Hello Merlin,” she called as she hurried away.

Gwaine gazed after her happily.

“Lance isn’t a shameless flirt,” Elyan pointed out. “Unlike you, Gwaine.”

“Well you’d better hope he isn’t,” Gwaine smirked. From the confused expression on Elyan’s face it was quite clear that as yet he had no idea about his new friend’s interest in his sister. Merlin pitied Lancelot when he found out. Elyan was quite protective and wouldn’t be very happy about any gladiator pairing up with Gwen. The risk was too great to the lady’s reputation if the gladiator was killed.

“How’s Ellie?” Merlin asked quickly, trying to divert the subject. He knew Gwen would probably be along soon enough and it was best if Gwaine didn’t wind Lancelot or Elyan up too much before they went out to fight. There was always a chance they might be pitted against each other.

“Ah, Ellie…” Gwaine’s smile broadened into a ridiculously fond expression as he gazed across to where his lady love was trying to pick up a platter of food that she’d spilled everywhere. “She’s just … amazing.”

“Gwaine’s smitten,” Elyan explained unnecessarily. “I like Ellie but honestly if I have to hear once more about how much in love he is I swear I’ll throw up!”

“Ah, jealous is it, my friend?” Gwaine slapped Elyan on the back. “I tell you, I’ve never wanted to be a free man more. Every opportunity I get I’m going to be working towards it.”

“That’s nice,” Lancelot told him. “Where’s her pretty friend? I haven’t seen her here today.”

Elyan paused for a moment, regarding Lancelot suspiciously. “Her pretty friend? Do you mean Gwen? _My sister?_”

That should have been warning enough, but apparently Lancelot wasn’t one to take a hint.

“Yes… she’s beautiful.”

“And my _sister_,” Elyan repeated firmly. “And you, my friend, are a gladiator. If you even think of following Gwaine’s disrespectful example…”

“Hey! I was saving my Ellie from that creep Val!” Gwaine objected. “Didn’t have a choice. Also we were distracting him from the other lady in the room who did happen to be _your sister_!”

Elyan couldn’t really argue with that. “Just don’t, okay?” he warned Lance. “If you get out of here and you’re a free man, honestly you’re a good man and I couldn’t be happier for you both. But not while you’re in here, Lance. Promise me.”

Lance nodded earnestly. “I wouldn’t.”

“Anyway, you won’t see her here again,” Elyan continued. “She sent word to me earlier, she’s been taken on as maid to our new queen to be.”

“The Pendragon princess?” Merlin questioned. He recalled how terribly unhappy the lady had looked as she’d ridden through Essetir. He was glad she had someone good and kind like Gwen at her side. Lance was looking quite downcast at the news and not even trying to hide it.

“That’s her,” Elyan confirmed. “Let’s hope she’s kinder than her father. Or her future husband.”

Merlin thought of King Uther down in the cells the day before. He hadn’t seemed so bad. Better than Cenred, certainly. But then Merlin supposed he would have thought differently if he’d seen Uther roasting sorcerers. It was impossible to judge him having only seen the defeated man.

“I met Uther,” Merlin ventured. “And his son, and some of their people. There are some knights coming in here, Leon and Kay. They seemed to be decent men, friendly.”

“Didn’t try to run you through for coming near them then?” Gwaine asked.

“That was just you, Gwaine.”

“He didn’t?” Lance looked between them both, obviously not sure whether they were joking or not.

Gwaine shrugged. “I didn’t know who was friend and who was foe when I first came in here. I got slightly injured in my first fight but managed to hide a knife under my shirt after I won. Poor Merlin here came to fix me up and I nearly stabbed him.”

“I get that a lot,” Merlin added. “I’m expendable so I’m always sent in first to the new ones.”

“Start of a beautiful friendship,” Gwaine added, draping an arm round Merlin’s shoulders. “No harm done.”

“Except to my nerves!”

Gwaine laughed, then stopped as something on the other side of the room caught his attention and he pointed with his free hand. “Your new friend, is he blond and angry-looking? Bit too pretty?”

Merlin followed Gwaine’s gaze. Standing in a small group, still in the same dirty, ragged clothes they’d worn in their cell, were Arthur, Leon and Kay. There was another younger man with them that Merlin thought he recognised from the Camelot group as well, and a few others that were new to him. Balinor had taken him away before he’d had a chance to complete his rounds of all the new people. They hadn’t been there a few minutes before so must have just been brought in.

Merlin tentatively raised a hand in greeting. Leon responded in kind but Arthur just continued watching him suspiciously.

“The tall man’s your friend?” Gwaine guessed.

“That’s Leon. Come on, I’ll introduce you. You’ll like Leon and Kay.” Merlin ducked out from under Gwaine’s arm and started to walk over. He glanced over his shoulder to check the other three were following him.

“What about the glaring one?” Elyan asked as they approached.

“That’s Arthur.”

“_Prince_ Arthur to you,” Arthur growled. “And where’s Gaius? Where did you and that man with the lizard take him?”

Gwaine gave Merlin a quizzical look. “Man with the lizard?”

Merlin shook his head. “Balinor, the dragonlord. I’ll tell you about it later.” He could tell Gwaine had a host of questions, but the gladiators could get called up at any moment. “Gwaine, this is Leon, this is Kay.”

“Sir Leon and Sir Kay,” Arthur corrected but Gwaine just smirked at him and nodded to Leon and Kay.

“I’m Gwaine, these two are Lancelot and Elyan. Me and Elyan have been here a little while now, we’ll show you and the princess the ropes if you like?”

“Idiot!” Arthur snapped. He grabbed Merlin’s arm and pulled him a little way away from Gwaine. “Why are you introducing us to this buffoon? I need to know where Gaius is. What happened? Did he die?”

Merlin looked pointedly at Arthur’s hand then back at Arthur. Arthur released him.

“He bothering you Merlin?” Gwaine checked, having followed them.

“It’s fine,” Merlin replied, and Gwaine went back to talking to Leon though he did keep glancing over.

“Is that your bodyguard?” Arthur gave Gwaine a doubtful look.

“He’s my friend. You should listen to him if you want to stay alive down here. He’s the expert. And _that’s_ why I’m introducing you! You’re welcome.”

“What about Gaius?” Arthur asked again.

Merlin sighed. “Gaius is an old friend of Balinor, the dragonlord. That’s why Balinor took him. He’s sick, but he should recover now. He’s not in any danger. Nobody crosses Balinor. Gaius is safe.”

Arthur looked relieved. “Good, that’s good.”

“What’s Gaius to you?” Merlin asked, curious.

For a moment he thought Arthur was going to tell him to mind his own business, but then Arthur seemed to relax very slightly. “He’s our physician. I’ve known him all my life. You’re sure he’s safe with this Balinor?”

There was nothing Arthur could do about it if Gaius wasn’t safe, but Merlin liked him a little more for his concern. “He’s safe. And the woman who was looking after him in the cell. I persuaded Balinor to save her as well so that Gaius had a familiar face when he was recovering.”

“To save her?” Arthur queried. “I saw people being taken away. What would have happened to her? What happened to the others?”

Arthur was going to find out soon enough. “Slavery or the gladiator schools for most of them. I think you’ve already found which ones are going to be gladiators,” he nodded towards Leon and Kay.

“What about the others?”

Merlin shook his head. “You don’t want to know. Trust me.”

“And my father? Do you know where he is? Is that something else you think I don’t want to know? Has he been killed already?”

Merlin could see the pain in Arthur’s eyes. There was nothing that he could say that wouldn’t add to it. And it would get worse, soon enough. At least never knowing his own father Merlin had been spared this pain. Though there was always his mother. But with Merlin far away from her there was the comfort of knowing that she was no longer in any danger. She could live out a quiet life.

“I believe he’s alive,” Merlin said truthfully. He saw Arthur’s shoulders slump in relief at that. But hope was dangerous, and there was none, not really. “But you know that the arena is open today, don’t you? You know what happens there?”

Arthur nodded. “They’ll execute him. I know.”

“They’ll also probably make you watch,” Merlin told him. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

“How?” Arthur breathed. “I need to know.”

Merlin hated the conversation. “It’s impossible to tell. It’s always different.”

“But you’ve seen what’s happened to other defeated kings?”

“I’ve tried not to,” Merlin admitted. “Cenred’s a monster.”

Arthur nodded. “Tell me.”

Merlin hated to even think of it. He had tried not to watch the executions, and thrown up with disgust on those he’d been forced to witness.

“They threw Caerleon in with a pack of starving dogs,” he admitted.

Arthur paled. “Caerleon was no friend of Camelot. He slaughtered the previous king and his family to take that throne. They were good people. But even so he didn’t deserve that. What else?”

“Please, Arthur, just trust me that they were all awful. If they make you watch, just find a point on the far side of the arena and focus on that so that people think you’re watching. Don’t look. Don’t listen.” It was an impossible ask and Merlin knew it. If it had been his mother out there he knew he would scream and fight and do anything to stop it. But Arthur just looked stony-faced, resigned. Merlin caught a glimpse then of the king that Arthur might have been, had things been different. Merlin thought that perhaps he might have followed someone so noble and strong.

“Thank you,” Arthur replied, his voice barely a whisper. “I should prepare myself, then. And when it’s done, will I be next?”

Merlin honestly didn’t know, and told him as much. “You’re down here with the gladiators. That usually means you’ll be one from this point onwards.”

“But?”

“They’ll probably call you up to fight quite soon after they… after your father dies. Because then it looks as if you’ve been given a fair chance.”

“Depending on your definition of fair.”

“It’s not mine!” Merlin assured him.

“Oh I can see that,” Arthur gave him a small smile, the first time Merlin had seen the captured prince show any sort of positive emotion. “And thank you for fixing my arm. It wasn’t a bad wound but it sounds as if I could use all the help I can get.”

Merlin smiled back, guessing that thank you probably wasn’t something that sat easily in Arthur’s vocabulary, but he’d just got it twice in quick succession. “Want me to check it?”

“It’s fine,” Arthur assured him but held his arm out anyway.

Merlin checked under the bandages. The cut had closed and started to thinly scab over. It looked clean enough so far but was going to cause a weakness in the upcoming fight. “I’ll strap it back up again,” Merlin assured him. “It might open up again when you’re fighting. Is that your sword arm?”

Arthur shook his head.

“Good. And I’ll look at it again when you come back afterwards. I’ll stitch it up if I have to. That’s fun, ask Lance!”

“You think I’ll come back then?” Arthur asked gently.

“I’ll be betting on it!” Merlin told him cheerfully, tightening the bandages up again and enjoying watching Arthur try not to wince.

Just at that moment there was a commotion behind them. The main door to the gladiators’ holding area had opened and the person who had walked in immediately captured everyone’s attention.

Kanen, the arena games master and possibly one of the most unpleasant people Merlin had ever met, had come down to the gladiators’ waiting area in person. That never happened. It was always messengers or assistants. Never Kanen himself. Merlin only knew him because he was a friend of Edwin’s, if either of the self-serving pair could ever be said to have actual friends.

“Gladiators!” Kanen called, as if they were all friends.

Merlin glanced at Arthur and could see that so far he only looked curious. Obviously he hadn’t met Kanen yet. There was a good chance Arthur had been dragged straight in there from his cell. Merlin was sure that Arthur and his knights hadn’t been there when he’d come in. It must have been during the brief time that he was talking to Gwaine.

“I have a special announcement for you all from the king.”

That definitely didn’t bode well.

“As you know, our great king has defeated the evil of Camelot and we have Uther Pendragon as our prisoner.”

Merlin saw Arthur’s expression darken, and quickly stepped in front of him. “Don’t react. Whatever he says, don’t react,” he hissed.

Arthur nodded curtly, but Merlin could see that it was taking everything he had not to go over there and attack Kanen. It might be satisfying, but it would also be one of the last things that Arthur ever did. Nobody, but _nobody_ crossed Kanen. Kanen was the one who decided what went on in the arena. If Kanen didn’t like you then you could end up the centrepiece of some horrendous execution disguised as entertainment.

“The king and I have agreed that to celebrate our king’s great victory there should be an opportunity for one of you to win their freedom!”

Merlin glanced back at Gwaine. Sure enough his friend was looking very interested. It couldn’t be a good thing that Kanen was offering though. It never was.

“Pendragon was a brutal monster who burned helpless innocents to death and left all those with magic in fear of their lives.”

It wasn’t a lie. But Merlin had seen nothing of that monster down in the cells. He’d seen plenty of monstrous behaviour from Kanen and Cenred over the years though. He watched Arthur carefully, ready to try to restrain him if the prince couldn’t contain his anger. Kanen had to know that Arthur was there, and had to be goading him.

“He was also known as a warrior king who staged fake tournaments so that first he and then in recent years his son could claim victory.”

“Don’t,” Merlin whispered. “He’s taunting you.”

Merlin could see Arthur breathing hard, obviously finding it very difficult not to react. Leon, Kay and the other knights moved closer to them, as did Gwaine, Lance and Elyan. Merlin was grateful for that, knowing he had no chance of physically restraining Arthur if the prince did decide to go for Kanen.

“We thought it would be fitting, therefore, to give the crowd a little entertainment and to give one of our fine gladiators their freedom. A tournament.”

There was quite a bit of cheering at that. Valiant was looking particularly pleased. Merlin risked another look at Gwaine but his friend was impassive for once, not giving anything away.

“And of course it gives Uther the fighting chance he never gave his victims. So who’s volunteering for it?”

“What are the rules?” Kay demanded.

Arthur looked a little stunned that the knight had spoken up, but didn’t say anything himself.

Kanen clearly had no idea which were the new gladiators as he didn’t even blink. “Excellent question! I’ll take ten volunteers, you’ll all be in the arena together and whoever gets the murderer’s head wins his freedom! So who’s volunteering?”

Arthur did protest at that, and it took both Leon and Gwaine to stop him going for Kanen. As it was he was shouting abuse at the man and ignoring Merlin’s attempts to shut him up. But Kanen didn’t even notice. The entire room was full of clamouring gladiators, all eager to have a chance at freedom. And small wonder really. Uther meant nothing to them, whilst earning the title of freed gladiator brought with it a guaranteed job, home and prize money. And if you had one of the serving girls as bedwarmer and wanted to keep her then that was just part of the prize. It was why Gwaine wanted it so badly – he needed to get Ellie out of there.

He didn’t seem to want it so much on this particular occasion after all though, concentrating on holding Arthur back rather than shouting out his wish to fight.

“I’m in,” Valiant declared, pushing a couple of men out of his way. “I’ve more than earned it.”

“We’d be sorry to lose you,” Kanen told him. “Who else? You!” he pointed at one of the stronger looking gladiators that had come forward. “And you… you…” he picked out quite fast.

“Me!” Kay yelled, striding forward.

“No!” Merlin wasn’t sure whether it was Arthur or Leon who had shouted. They both looked horrified.

Kanen raised an eyebrow. “You’re new. One of his knights?”

“Ex knight,” Kay snapped. “I’ve had to suffer under his rule for years. My mother was a witch, he burned her alive. I want revenge!”

“Kay, you traitor!” Arthur yelled, but Kay ignored him. Lance and Elyan had taken Leon’s place, because Leon was just standing staring at Kay at that point.

Kanen regarded Kay for a few moments, then nodded. “Okay, you. One more… you.”

One of the other existing gladiators was picked, then Kanen swept out. He’d be heading for his prime seat in the arena near to the king.

“You ten!” Dagr, one of the arena’s chief guards, called. “You’re up! Follow me!”

The volunteers went after him, Kay amongst them. He stopped for a moment and looked back at Arthur and Leon, nodding at them both though neither acknowledged it. Merlin thought he looked terribly regretful.

Valiant started to leave too, then paused for a few moments. He stopped a few feet away from them, regarding Arthur with amusement. “You’re Arthur Pendragon, aren’t you? I’m almost regretting not getting the chance to kill you as well as your father. But freedom’s going to taste sweet.”

Arthur struggled again, but Lance and Elyan managed to restrain him. Valiant laughed at Arthur’s furious reaction and turned to go, deliberately knocking into Gwaine as he did so. “Almost as sweet as that girl of yours, Gwaine. You should have gone for this, tried to get your freedom. Now I might request her as my prize!”

“She’s pregnant,” Gwaine snapped back, moving away from the others so that Valiant had to as well. “So too late there. You know the rules. I’m the only one who can claim her.”

Valiant narrowed his eyes for a moment, appraising Gwaine. “You can’t know. That was too fast.”

Gwaine shrugged. “You think last week was the first time? You’re really that stupid? Why do you think I had to make it official?”

“She’ll be available once you’re dead, pregnant or not. But she’ll be no fun with a kid inside her, and soiled goods anyway. Not good enough for me. You’re welcome to her.”

And with that he strode after the other nine combatants.

“Pregnant?” Merlin asked Gwaine.

Gwaine just shrugged. “Might be. Might not be. Won’t be for want of trying! Whatever keeps him away from her.”

“You could have taken part, tried to win your freedom.”

Gwaine nodded towards Arthur, who seemed to have calmed down very slightly and was talking furiously to Leon rather than trying to attack anyone. “There’ll be other chances. I’ve been where he is. I’d never help put anyone else through it.”

Gwaine rarely talked about his past. Merlin knew better than to push it as his friend always just changed the subject. But he stored up all the little snippets that Gwaine sometimes gave away, like that one, hoping that one day he’d get the full story and understand Gwaine better. Of course, that depended on Gwaine surviving, and in the arena there was never any guarantee of that.

“Ever going to tell me about that?” Merlin attempted.

Gwaine grinned, shook his head, and drapped his arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “You know better than that,” he said, leading Merlin back to the others.

“I can still try.”

Arthur stopped talking when they approached, though he wasn’t regarding Gwaine with the same mistrust that he had been before.

“Who was that?” he demanded.

“His name’s Valiant,” Gwaine told him. “Whatever happens, we probably won’t see him down here again.”

“Because you think he’ll kill my father,” Arthur realised with disgust.

“Because only one of the ten men who just left here are going to survive, and that one will leave as a free man. Trust me, friend, we’re better off without him.”

“Friend?” Arthur queried. “I don’t recall you having that status.”

“Any friend of Merlin here’s a friend of mine,” Gwaine told him. “Agreed?”

Merlin waited for the inevitable comeback from Arthur, but it never arrived. Arthur just looked at them both, then nodded.

“Sensible,” Gwaine told him. “You don’t want enemies down here. You, more than anyone, don’t want that. Get through today, then stick with me, Elyan and Lance here. We’ll try to help you stay alive, because you can bet Cenred’s going to want you dead as soon as possible. Your friends too, unless any more of them decide to swap sides.”

“Kay didn’t swap sides,” Leon told him. “His mother lived to a ripe old age and died in her sleep.”

“Leon!” Arthur protested.

“We have to trust someone,” Leon protested. “Merlin helped us and these three didn’t take the opportunity to get their freedom.”

“Not like that,” Lancelot agreed. “I want to be able to sleep at night once I’m free again.”

“We want out of here, but not that way,” Elyan confirmed.

“So your friend’s on some foolhardy quest to save your king?” Gwaine gave a low whistle. “Good one. Had me fooled.”

“Us too for a moment,” Leon admitted. “Until he said that about his mother. I was his squire, I’ve known him most of my life. I couldn’t believe he’d betray us. And he hasn’t.”

“My father always said Kay was his most loyal knight,” Arthur agreed. “And he was right.”

“You know he stands no chance of succeeding?” Merlin warned.

Leon nodded. “But sometimes, just trying is enough, isn’t it? I wish I’d thought of it.”

Gwaine patted him on the back sympathetically. “We don’t do regrets down here. And maybe your next king needs a loyal knight of his own too?”

He was trying to be kind. Arthur obviously didn’t appreciate it, and Leon didn’t reply at all.

“We already have a king,” Arthur pointed out.

But they all knew that wouldn’t be the case for much longer.

\---

Morgana’s new maid was actually very good.

Gwen had been chosen because Morgana had liked her, but Morgana had assumed that her claims of having had experience of being a ladies maid were exaggerated and that Gwen would need constant instruction. It would have been a welcome distraction. But no, Gwen knew exactly what to do. She was soft-spoken and respectful at first, which disappointed Morgana but didn’t surprise her. She’d hoped for a companion to talk to, a friend even. But she soon realised that Gwen was carefully sizing her up as well, trying to ascertain what she could and could not say.

“We’re being very polite,” Morgana noted eventually, when Gwen had brushed her hair in near silence then started to pin it into elaborate curls and tresses.

Gwen’s reflection in the mirror bobbed a little curtsey. “Is that not my place, my lady?”

“I was hoping for a little conversation at least. My previous maid was always talking and singing… the singing perhaps was a little off-key.”

“My singing would be even worse,” Gwen assured her with a quick smile. “But I like to talk. Perhaps you’ll soon wish for silence!”

Morgana doubted that. She’d had enough silence since arriving in Essetir. It was a lonely place.

There had been no word of Uther or Arthur, but Morgana gathered that she was expected to appear on the royal balcony at the arena that afternoon. It was what Gwen was preparing her for. Morgana could definitely do with a distraction from that.

“Tell me about yourself, about your family. Your brother, the gladiator. You’re not a slave so what happened there? Why is he there?”

“Elyan used to hang around with people who didn’t have his best interests at heart,” Gwen offered. 

“What do you mean?” Morgana asked, when it appeared that was all Gwen was going to say.

“Well, he was young and impressionable. His new friends liked to gamble, and he tried to keep up even though we had very little in the way of money. He got into a great deal of debt and our father couldn’t raise enough to help him.”

“I’m sorry,” Morgana smiled kindly up at Gwen. “That must have been terrible. But I don’t understand why he’s now a gladiator? Does the arena act as a debtors prison?”

“Oh no, my lady,” Gwen smiled back, though it didn’t reach her eyes and Morgana supposed that her questioning was bringing up bad memories.

“I’m sorry, we won’t talk about it if you don’t want to. It’s just that with my own brother there I wanted to learn more about the place.”

“I don’t mind,” Gwen assured her. “It didn’t come to that. What happened was that Elyan’s always been a good swordsman. Our father was a highly regarded blacksmith and many of his clients were knights looking for a decent sword. I suppose it amused the kinder ones to teach a little boy their trade, and things moved on from there. It meant he could apply to the arena as a skilled voluntary gladiator. The money he was paid cleared his debt, and hopefully he’ll soon have earned enough victory seals to be a free man again.”

“A voluntary gladiator?” Morgana wondered. “People would choose to go in that arena?”

“If you’re desperate enough you’ll do anything,” Gwen confirmed. “And he’s still alive. The crowd like him. It may yet turn out well.”

Morgana couldn’t see how fighting for a living could ever turn out well. It had been bad enough watching the tournaments at Camelot, and those had been supposedly friendly. Her understanding of the arena was that it was anything but. Still, Gwen had said something interesting.

“Victory seals?” Morgana asked. “What are those?”

Gwen brushed out another length of hair and began to pin it up. “If you win in the arena, particularly if you have the crowds favour, sometimes the king or his court grant you a victory seal. When you have twenty you can apply for your freedom.”

“So it’s not permanent? They can leave?”

“If they’re good. It’s a fine thing, to be a freed gladiator. You have fame and respect, and everyone in the city already knows who you are. There’s a purse, enough to purchase a home. It’s easy to find a good job if you were popular with the crowd. And even if you weren’t there’s always something decent. So you see, it wasn’t a hard decision for Elyan.”

“I see that,” Morgana replied thoughtfully. “You say apply for your freedom. Is it always granted? I cannot see Cenred gifting my brother his freedom.”

“No my lady,” Gwen shook her head sadly. “Those who have fallen foul of the king are unlikely to ever become free men. They almost never receive victory seals as those are at the king’s discretion.”

“Or because they die early on?”

Gwen ducked her head and became very interested in her work. “I couldn’t say, my lady.”

But she would say, eventually, Morgana could tell. It might take a little while to fully earn Gwen’s trust but she was sure that they could be friends. There was just something about the girl that inspired Morgana to want that. Though of course it could all be another spell from Morgause or one of the other sorcerers.

Morgana hoped that it wasn’t.

And right on cue Morgause strode in.

Morgause was intrusive, and so was Cenred. Neither of them seemed to have the slightest regard for her privacy. They both had taken to marching into her room whenever they felt like it. Gwen was readying Morgana for her first public appearance, and Morgause had already come in twice to see how things were going. The third time Morgause did it, she looked impatient.

“Aren’t you finished yet?”

“Almost done, my lady,” Gwen replied, her nimble fingers moving even faster over Morgana’s head. She really was very skilled and Morgause had no genuine cause to criticise. But Morgana suspected she hadn’t been expected to choose this particular maidservant and Morgause just wanted to keep an eye on her.

“It looks finished to me,” Morgause snapped. She seemed to have given up on the pleasant sister act that day. Morgana hadn’t been responding to it anyway, and Morgause didn’t appear to be the sort of person to keep trying when something didn’t work. That took patience. “Dress her, and then both of you be downstairs in the next ten minutes, or I’ll be hiring a new maid.” With that she swept out.

Gwen looked understandably worried at that.

“Don’t worry, we can do this,” Morgana assured her. She was no precious lady who couldn’t dress herself if she needed to. Between them they rapidly got her dressed, with Gwen swiftly fastening her into her garments, and then hurried down into the large hall where Gwen had been hired. It did seem to be one of the main rooms of the castle. Morgause and Cenred were there talking together, heads bent close. They both smiled at her when she entered, but Morgana had experienced enough of their fake smiles over the past few days to recognise them.

“I’m ready, as you see,” Morgana announced.

It was Cenred who came forward, Morgause at his heels. Morgana couldn’t prevent the urge to take a step back as he came close.

“You look suitably lovely, my dear,” he told her, taking her hand to kiss it. Morgana snatched it back, wiping it on her dress. “Quite the queen to be. Almost as beautiful as your sister.”

“Shouldn’t you be marrying her instead?” Morgana couldn’t help asking. “Honestly, I can live with the disappointment if you do.”

Cenred slapped her, hard across the face.

It was a double shock because Morgana had never been slapped before. Uther had always favoured her (and now she knew why) and her tantrums and arguments had usually been tolerated. Often she’d been sent to her room. Once, memorably, she’d been made to sit in the dungeon for a few hours to cool off. But then she’d been shouting at Uther in public. She’d been right, but of course he’d had no choice. There had been no physical punishment though, not ever. The stinging pain across her cheek was eye-watering. It was a natural reaction but made things worse because Cenred would think he’d succeeded in making her cry.

“Never talk back to me!” Cenred demanded. “Understood?”

Morgana glared at him defiantly through her teary eyes.

“Understood?” Cenred repeated again, raising his hand.

“She understands,” Morgause snapped. “Leave it, Cenred. She’s got to appear in public, you don’t want to leave marks on her face.”

“There are other ways to punish her,” Cenred warned.

“Not now,” Morgause insisted. “Go, get ready to leave. I’ll deal with this.”

Cenred didn’t look happy, but did as he was bid. It occurred to Morgana that perhaps Cenred wasn’t the real power in the kingdom. Yet Morgause really wasn’t much better.

“Don’t antagonise him,” Morgause warned as Cenred left. She raised her hand and her eyes glowed briefly. The stinging in Morgana’s cheek immediately subsided. “He doesn’t make idle threats. You’ll see soon enough how he deals with his enemies.”

“Uther?” Morgana asked. She knew the answer.

“Just don’t make this harder than it needs to be. You’re my sister. You have magic. This could be a wonderful opportunity for you if you’d just embrace it. Uther Pendragon would have burned you for being a witch if he’d known. He and his son are nothing to you. Nothing.”

But Uther, faced with the truth when Cenred and Morgause had taken his kingdom, had claimed otherwise. Perhaps he had been lying to keep her on side but she could never be sure. And she _could_ be sure, with no doubt at all, about Arthur.

“They’re my family,” she said. _And you’re not_, she thought, but did not say.

\---

Merlin knew he was going to be in for a busy day.

Arena days were always bad. He didn’t think he’d ever worked through one where there hadn’t been at least one patient that he hadn’t been able to save.

It would all have been easier if he’d had his magic, of course. Gilli was being properly trained by Edwin in the arts of magical healing. If Merlin had been allowed the same thing then there would have been so many more people that he could have saved.

Not the unwanted prisoners though. There was no saving them. They would be the few citizens who had foolishly remained loyal to their king, or nobles who hadn’t been quick enough to change sides. There would be staff from the castle and ex-courtiers who had all been rounded up and brought to Essetir. All of them would have been offered up for sale in the past few days. The old, the infirm and those that just weren’t wanted would be left. There was no profit in them except for arena entertainment. Entertainment that involved a group of helpless people and a number of vicious, hungry beasts.

It was the very worst event that took place. People who had been living ordinary lives just weeks before, with no thought of politics, suddenly were thrown into the middle of it. At least the slaves had some chance of escaping, or of earning their freedom. The arena fodder had none.

Merlin never watched it. He could hear the screams even down below ground. He was lucky in many ways as he had an excuse to stay away. A patient that didn’t really need checking over would be his usual reason.

The ‘show’ was always the first one on. Cenred claimed it made the crowds hungry for more blood and more eager to cheer the gladiators on later. It also was supposed to fire the gladiators themselves with bloodlust, make them more willing to fight. They had to stand in one of the holding areas and watch from behind gates that would later open and let them into the arena. There was of course the unspoken threat that if they didn’t fight well enough then they might find themselves thrown out as arena fodder themselves one day. It was horrific. The new gladiators, the ones from Camelot, had all been led up with the older warriors. They would get a shock. Some would see people that they knew out there.

Arthur certainly would. Because this time, straight after the slaughter, his father would be out there.

Merlin couldn’t watch the townspeople be killed. He felt a strange loyalty to Camelot, because of what his life should have been. And he found himself drawn to Arthur and actually liking Leon and Kay. But he stayed down whilst the first event took place. Only when he was sure it was over did he go up to stand with the gladiators.

Usually Merlin stayed down in the rooms below the arena for the whole show. But nobody on the arena staff was allowed to do that when a king was being executed. Everyone was supposed to watch and cheer, to show their support for Cenred.

Merlin went up and stood with the gladiators. Not the ten volunteers who were out there in the arena, dressed in gleaming armour, marching around and firing up support from the crowd. Merlin stood with the others, the ones who would have to go up later.

There was already the stench of blood in the air from the massacre that had taken place in the previous event. Merlin could see from the pallor of some of their faces just how sickened the Camelot knights had been by it. He’d heard of a knight’s code, an agreement to behave in a just and honourable way that all the Camelot knights had abided by. It had sounded a noble, worthy thing. What they had just witnessed would have gone against it in every possible way.

The little group of new gladiators were over to one side of the holding area. Some of them were turned away from the arena, but Leon and Arthur were right at the front along with a younger man, looking out through the gate. It smelled as if at least one of the newcomers had been sick. That, like the blood in the arena, would have been swiftly covered with sawdust.

It didn’t really remove the smell of either.

Gwaine, Lance and Elyan were all standing close by. Merlin was pleased to see that his friends were doing their best to support them. Elyan and Lance were talking to Leon and the younger man, and as he got closer Merlin could hear them pointing things out within the arena that they would need to look out for. Gwaine was standing with Arthur, his face unusually serious. They didn’t appear to be talking, just watching the gladiators inside the arena.

“Merlin,” Gwaine greeted him. “Didn’t manage to find an excuse to stay away then? You should, Galahad here’s been sick already!” He waved a hand towards the young man next to Leon. Galahad looked away, ashamed.

Arthur gave Gwaine a sharp look, then immediately turned his attention back to the scene before him.

“You know the rules,” Merlin replied. “I had to come up for Caerleon as well.” And nearly all the others, but Gwaine hadn’t been around for them.

“Bit different this time,” Gwaine nodded towards the ten men out in the arena. “Just as one sided but I think I’d prefer this to the dogs, given the choice. Sorry,” he added quickly to Arthur.

Arthur nodded, but didn’t look around. Merlin followed his gaze and saw that he was, unsurprisingly, watching Kay. Kay was rousing the crowd along with the rest of them.

“He’s putting on a good show,” Merlin commented. “If anyone suspected, he’d be cut down in an instant.”

“They should be pleased,” Gwaine muttered disgustedly. “Nine against two is going to provide a much longer and more entertaining show than ten against one injured man. And that’s what we’re all about, here, my friends. Entertainment.”

“I preferred our tournaments in Camelot,” Arthur hissed.

“They were fair,” Gwaine agreed. “Cenred doesn’t do fair.”

That sounded as if Gwaine had been to Camelot and seen their tournaments. Another little snippet of his hidden past. Merlin stored it up because that really wasn’t the time.

“I’ve noticed,” Arthur replied. He looked around then, at both of them. “You two don’t have to stand here with me. Chances are that they’ll throw me out there as well once they’re finished with my father. Anyone next to me could get caught up.”

“They won’t,” Gwaine assured him. “Besides, this is my spot, I’m not feeling like moving. What about you, Merlin?”

Merlin quickly shook his head. That was why he liked Gwaine so much. Behind all the swagger and cockiness there was a huge heart. And for whatever reason, despite Arthur’s rudeness earlier, Gwaine did seem quite determined now to be friends with him.

“I’m not moving either. You’re stuck with us, Arthur.”

Arthur gave them both an appraising look, then half-smiled. “Fine, do as you will.”

There was a sudden commotion in the crowd, and their attention immediately snapped back to the arena. For a moment Merlin thought that Uther was being brought in, but instead it was the arrival of the king and his court.

Merlin could see Cenred high up on the royal balcony, waving to the crowd and basking in the cheers. Morgause was there with him, Commander of Magic and unofficial king’s consort. And beside her was the beautiful new queen to be. Morgana Pendragon.

[ ](https://imgur.com/pzwcZ2y)

“Morgana,” Arthur breathed. He pressed his face against the bars of the gate, though there was no hope of getting through, then started calling to her. “Morgana! Morgana!”

There was no chance that she could hear him above the roar of the spectators. The woman looked pale and frightened as she was shown off to the cheering crowd. Morgause leaned in and said something to her, then Morgana raised her hand and waved. She didn’t smile. Merlin could see Gwen standing behind her, wearing a newer dress than he’d ever seen her in. It was probably the uniform of the royal household as it was in shades of green and black, not the gentle yellows and purples that Gwen normally liked to wear. Still, it was good to see her.

“My friend, she can’t hear you,” Gwaine told Arthur. “And she probably can’t see you either, all the way down here.”

They were in the shadow of the arena. It was deliberate, so that the audience couldn’t see what was coming on next. It kept up the element of surprise. Arthur seemed to realise that and gave up trying to get his sister’s attention. He kept his head against the bars though, leaning on them, watching what was going on.

Morgana sat down in a high chair next to Cenred. At least they’d spared her from watching the slaughter of her people, Merlin thought. Just the main event to watch – the slaughter of her father.

“He can’t make her watch this,” Gwaine murmured as if reading Merlin’s thoughts. “That’s just wrong.”

“She’s to be queen,” Arthur told him. “They have to show her watching and approving.”

“She won’t approve!” Gwaine exclaimed. “Mor… she… no. That’s not right.”

Arthur didn’t appear to have noticed Gwaine’s slip there. It was small wonder, he barely knew Gwaine and couldn’t yet spot unusual behaviour. And anyway his concentration was entirely on what was happening in the arena. Merlin noticed though. Gwaine spoke as if he knew Morgana. Though Arthur didn’t appear to know Gwaine, and Merlin would have thought most people would have known either both of them or neither. It wasn’t the time though. There was movement in the centre of the arena and the crowd roared even louder.

Uther Pendragon had arrived.

Essetir’s arena was all about show. One of its more interesting features was the lifts from the basement that took participants right up into the middle of the arena. It was used for higher profile gladiator battles. And also to put victims straight into the centre so that there was no escape.

Uther looked far worse than he had when Merlin had left him in the cells. The potion would have worn off of course, and Merlin knew enough about the way things were to understand that Uther wouldn’t have been treated gently in his captivity. Particularly once he was removed from his son and knights.

They’d given him a sword, after a fashion. It was clearly a practice sword, made of wood and blunt. Uther wouldn’t be cutting anyone down with it. As if ten against one wasn’t already poor enough odds. But then Uther had been famed as a warrior king, reclaiming his family’s kingdom of Camelot from the usurper Vortigern then ruling for nearly thirty years. His prowess as a swordsman was almost legendary. He might not be as skilful as he had been in his youth, but Merlin wouldn’t have wanted to bet against him in a fair fight.

Uther’s opponents stood still in a circle around him then, waiting for the signal that the game would begin. Merlin had to hand it to the king, injured though he was he still managed to stand up fairly straight to face them. He didn’t bother raising the useless weapon, and looked for a moment as if he might even cast it aside. But anything was better than nothing apparently, and he kept it there.

Kanen was addressing the crowd, explaining the rules such as they were. Whoever brought Cenred Uther Pendragon’s head would have their freedom with all the glory and benefits that entailed for an ex-gladiator, plus a hundred gold pieces on top. It was a prize worth fighting for. Merlin had no doubt that they would be fighting each other as well, long after the king was dead. Only one man would come out of that arena alive.

It would probably be Valiant. None of the others were any match for him, apart from possibly Kay but Merlin hadn’t seen how the knight fought yet.

“She’s not moving,” Arthur commented. He was looking up at Morgana again.

“She probably can’t,” Gwaine told him. “Surely you’ve felt their magic by now? Morgause up there, the blonde woman, she’s powerful.”

“I know,” Arthur said shortly, his gaze never leaving the arena. “We’ve met.”

Cenred was reclining on his throne up on the royal balcony, enjoying the spectacle with a large drink in his hand. If Cenred had been the one down in the arena Merlin doubted he would have been standing there with as much dignity as Uther was. Cenred lived his life hiding behind his Commander of Magic and everyone knew it.

Kanen gave the word, and the show began.

Kay immediately cut down the man next to him, grabbed the man’s sword and dashed forward. For a brief moment Merlin saw shock on Uther’s face, but that lasted only as long as it took for Kay to toss him the sword and then the pair of them stood back to back, ready to take on the remaining eight gladiators.

The crowd, believing it all to be part of the spectacle, roared with delight. Merlin glanced up at Cenred. He was on his feet, shouting something at Kanen but whatever it was got lost in the noise from the crowd. Morgana still wasn’t moving. Definitely held fast by Morgause’s magic.

Arthur was still watching grimly. It couldn’t end well, but eight against two was far better odds than ten to one. The remaining gladiators weren’t so quick to jump in now that Kay was there with Uther.

Valiant was circling them, advising his fellow fighters on how best to attack.

“He wants them to do the dirty work,” Gwaine noted. “Then he’ll take the prize for himself. That’s how he works.”

Two of the gladiators went in. Kay dispatched one almost at once, every bit the superior fighter that Merlin had guessed him to be, and soon cut down the other one as well. But another pair were fighting a weakened Uther, and fast gaining ground. Three more went in, both going for Kay so that he had no chance of dealing with the gladiators fighting Uther. He put up a great fight, and managed to maim one but he couldn’t hold off all three of them at once. And then Valiant joined in with the attack on Uther. The crowd roared their approval. Valiant was known amongst the arena spectators for his underhand methods of winning. They usually disliked him but that day they were actually on his side for once. The other gladiator attacking Uther managed to disarm him, but it was Valiant who knocked Uther to the ground and put his blade to the king’s throat.

Kay turned, trying to get away from his assailants and help his king. The action left his right side exposed and one of the gladiators took advantage, stabbing him in the chest. Kay froze for a moment, and then crumpled to the ground. Perhaps he was already dead, but that didn’t stop his opponents from all laying into him and making sure. Leon, Merlin saw, had slid to the floor, his head in his hands, unable to watch further. Galahad, coping better than Leon had, was crouched down beside him, talking quietly to him. They’d been good friends with Kay. Only Arthur was still watching, but by then the remaining gladiators had all turned their attention to Uther.

Merlin looked away too, sickened, as Valiant’s sword rose ready for the kill.

“Don’t watch,” Gwaine advised, putting a friendly hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur shrugged it off, never looking around. His expression was hard and cold as he took in the scene before him. Merlin saw him flinch as Valiant swung his sword through the air and delivered the killing blow. The crowd screamed their approval.

Up on the balcony, Morgana sat there like a little doll made of ice. She didn’t even twitch. Merlin could only begin to imagine what she would be going through inside, forced to watch in silence. That was no loyal queen that Cenred was creating.

Down in the arena the remaining gladiators were fighting each other over the gruesome prize, just as Merlin had expected. One was collapsed over Kay’s corpse, his throat slit. Another was on his knees, bleeding profusely from a chest wound that Valiant had delivered. If he was lucky the others wouldn’t bother with him further and he might survive. The one Kay had maimed was clutching at his sword arm, trying to stem the flow of blood. He would be stupid to try to take on the others, but he wasn’t walking off and admitting defeat yet. The remaining three, including Valiant, were circling each other warily, all ready to strike. It would be the real battle, with so much to gain.

Merlin didn’t know the other two gladiators well. One had only been around for a few weeks and Merlin didn’t even know their name. The other one, Marcus, had been a knight at Lot’s court. Neither of them had yet been injured. It was those who needed him that he tended to get to know best. Them, and the bullies like Valiant. Valiant was a good fighter to be sure, but he actually liked to kill. That was the difference between him and most of the others. It was what made him so dangerous – he didn’t care about anyone but himself.

The nameless man went down quickly, victim of a vicious slice from Valiant. An artery was open, Merlin could tell from the way the blood was pumping out. Nobody was going to intervene in time, the man was as good as dead already.

There was so much blood. Seven dead men, one dying and another badly injured. Merlin could smell it in the air, thick and iron, making him want to gag.

Arthur was as still as his sister, and just as pale, still watching. Gwaine tried again to get him to turn from the carnage, but Arthur actually shoved him away that time. Gwaine didn’t try again. Leon did look up, but must have seen that Arthur was beyond intervention and lowered his head again. He was crying, Merlin saw in that brief moment when he looked up.

Arthur was not. Arthur’s face was a mask of fury, though he made not one sound. Merlin thought that the waves of anger coming from the prince were almost palpable. And yet Arthur was making no futile move to break down the gate, or screaming the hatred he had to feel at Valiant and Cenred. In some ways it was more frightening seeing him like that. Leon at least was addressing his grief, letting himself mourn. Arthur seemed to be a pillar of barely contained rage.

People who went out there to fight like that, full of rage and fury, rarely returned to the gladiator schools to fight another day. They made mistakes, driven on by their anger and blinded by it. That was probably the intention, Merlin realised. He knew he had to find some way to get through to Arthur before Arthur’s first fight. Nobody would get through while Arthur’s decapitated father was lying out there in the sawdust, just so much dead meat. But there might be a chance if Merlin stayed close. He wanted to help. Never before had Merlin met anyone down there who he felt might stand up to Cenred and lead some kind of uprising. But he remembered Arthur from the procession through the city, head held high and proud. Arthur could inspire people. Arthur would be a great king. But he had to survive the horror in front of him.

Merlin stood beside him, almost shoulder to shoulder, as Valiant and Marcus fought the final battle. He didn’t try to speak to Arthur, or make him turn away, Gwaine had already proved that wouldn’t work.

Valiant emerged victorious, naturally. Marcus was a skilled swordsman, but that was no match for someone who had no qualms about fighting dirty and was quite happy to trip his opponent and stab him in the back. Perhaps Marcus still might have survived, but Valiant ran his sword through Marcus’ chest just to be on the safe side. For good measure he finished off the injured man as well, even though there was absolutely no threat there. And then he picked up his gruesome trophy and held it aloft.

Merlin heard Gwaine exclaim in disgust beside him but didn’t look away. If Arthur could watch then so could he, nauseating as it was. Merlin dealt in blood and death all the time, and saw horrendous injuries coming out of the arena. So he could cope with the scene before him for just as long as it took.

“Arthur, come away,” Leon begged. He’d got up while Merlin was standing with Arthur, and gently tried to steer Arthur away from the railings of the gate. “Don’t watch any more.”

Arthur shook him off. “He’s dead,” he whispered.

“Yes, there’s nothing you can do,” Leon agreed.

“Cenred’s dead,” Arthur corrected coldly. “Perhaps it’s going to take me a lifetime but Cenred, and that murderous excuse for a knight, they’re both dead men walking. I’ll kill them. I’ll cut them into tiny pieces and stick their heads on spikes on the castle gates.”

“Don’t look any more,” Gwaine urged.

“Morgana has no choice but to look,” Arthur hissed. “She’s trapped up there. Why should I have it any easier? Look what they’re doing.”

Merlin looked across and realised what he meant. Valiant was making the long journey up the steps from the arena to the royal balcony, carrying Uther’s head by the hair, bloodied and awful. Morgana would have that grisly trophy right in front of her within a few minutes. He didn’t know Morgana, but she was as much of a prisoner as any of them and nobody deserved to be subjected to that.

In the passage behind them that led away from the arena gates, Dagr was shouting instructions. His voice was getting louder as he nearer their location. Merlin could hear names behind called. Some of the gladiators were moving back away from the gates. He heard Arthur’s name being called, Leon’s too.

“You can’t stay up here,” Gwaine told them. “You have to go back down for now.”

Arthur still refused to move.

Out in the arena, the bodies were already being loaded onto a small cart ready to be taken away. The arena floor was being cleared ready for the next event. There was no dignity given to any of the dead, no matter whether they were king, knight or a gladiator who had entertained the crowds there for months. With death they had become nothing. It was a grim fact of mortality in the arena. Merlin had seen it many times before.

“Where will they be taken?” Leon asked, watching the carter and his helper lifting up another of the dead gladiators.

“They go through one of the other gates,” Merlin told him. He didn’t want to say that it was called The Gate of Death, and that all of them would be stripped of weapons, armour and any other valuables. He particularly didn’t want to tell Arthur and Leon that the bodies would then be burned en masse, leaving no chance of a proper funeral with all the dignity that the two of them would want to bestow on Uther and Kay. Or worse, sometimes they were fed to the more vicious animals of the arena to give them a taste for human flesh.

“And?”

“They burn the bodies,” Gwaine told him quickly, then changing the subject. “Come on, you need to go back down with Dagr before they open this gate. Both of you,” he added to Arthur.

“I’m not leaving.” Arthur was still watching what was going on. Valiant was almost at the top of the steps. Leon hesitated, not willing to leave without Arthur. The few other ex-Camelot knights had gone, probably too sickened and shocked by what they had seen to resist. Galahad had waited too but Leon insisted he left.

Behind them, Dagr had almost reached the gates. Merlin glanced back at him, then at the grim determination on Arthur’s face. Dagr was almost as bad as Kanen himself, and wouldn’t hesitate to punish a new gladiator who didn’t keep in line. Especially if it was Arthur. There wouldn’t be a killing because Arthur was definitely going to be on show in the arena, but there were other methods. Arthur wouldn’t like them.

Merlin quickly moved closer to Arthur, talking to him in a low, urgent voice and praying that the prince would see reason.

“Arthur, you need to leave.”

There was no reaction except perhaps a thinning of Arthur’s lips. He stayed staring ahead.

“Arthur, you can’t achieve anything by staying here. And they’ll take it out on your men if you don’t obey.”

That got through. It was another mark in Arthur’s favour that he immediately looked around, concerned. “What?”

“They want you for the arena, in one piece, you’re top entertainment. They don’t care about Leon or Galahad. Or any of the others. That’s what happens, it’s how they get obedience from decent people. All you will achieve by staying here watching this is that you’ll get one or more of your friends killed. And then you’ll do what they want anyway.” He glanced back to where Dagr was arguing with one of his subordinates over something. It gave them a few moments but not much more. Merlin needed to move as well, he had a certain amount of protection as physician but he really shouldn’t still be up there. The sawdust was being spread over the area floor to cover the blood again. They were nearly ready for the next show. If the gates opened early and the gladiators rushed out there was a small chance he’d be swept with them and then he would be left to take part in a fight to the death. It wouldn’t be a long fight.

“Do what he says,” Gwaine urged.

“Pendragon!” Dagr yelled. “Back down here now! And all the rest of you who aren’t on next!”

“Please, Arthur,” Merlin hissed. “We can’t stay here.”

Arthur glanced once more at the royal balcony. Valiant had reached the top of the steps and was heading towards a smiling Cenred. The crowd were dutifully roaring their approval. Merlin knew that in another few moments he would just have to leave Arthur to it. But Arthur turned back, gave a brief nod, then hurried off down the passageway as he was bid, Leon at his heels.

“Move faster than that next time, Pendragon!” Dagr called after him. “Physician, you shouldn’t be up here! Move!”

Merlin scuttled after Arthur and Leon, glad to leave the horrors of the arena behind him.

\---

Morgana couldn’t move.

Every fibre of her being screamed out to get away, but she couldn’t even lift so much as a finger.

As soon as she was seated in the ornate chair at Cenred’s side, Morgana had been frozen in place. It wasn’t the chair, it was her supposed sister and some sort of compulsion spell. That wasn’t the first time that Morgause had used it, and Morgana supposed that it wouldn’t be the last either. Morgana could blink and she could breathe. That was about it.

At least she generally couldn’t see very well. The tears that she couldn’t prevent from streaming down her face were also blurring her vision. Closing her eyes was also an option, but then she would be frozen in the dark, every sound and touch a terrifying mystery.

The only touch was Gwen. Her maid was right there beside her, a comforting hand laid gently on Morgana’s shoulder (Gwen had tried taking her hand at first but Morgause had slapped her away). It was the only scrap of warmth in the whole world, or that was what it felt like.

The man, that terrible man who had slaughtered Uther and Kay and all his own fellow fighters besides, even the injured ones, had reached the top of the steps up to the balcony.

Morgana couldn’t move her head. That was a blessing, it meant that she couldn’t quite see what he was carrying. She didn’t want to.

Behind her, Gwen gasped and Morgana felt the hand on her shoulder give a sympathetic squeeze. It was obviously just as well Morgana couldn’t see more than a blur to one side through her tears.

Cenred was greeting the murderer enthusiastically. Morgana could hear him talking to the crowd.

“… great loss to our gladiatorial community because Valiant here is now a free man.” There was cheering and Cenred paused until it had calmed down a little, raising his voice to be heard when he spoke again. “He has vanquished the most despicable foe ever to rise up amongst the kingdoms of Britain. The tyrant, the murderous villain, Uther Pendragon! Show them, Valiant!”

Morgana didn’t need to look in order to know what was happening. In her peripheral vision there was movement as Valiant lifted up Uther’s severed head and the crowd roared their approval. Fresh tears welled up and again everything was a blur. Then a shadow fell over her and Gwen was standing there gently wiping Morgana’s face as clean as she could. Morgana guessed what a mess of tears and snot she must look but really didn’t care.

“There, my lady, let me just clean up your face, I’m sure the king wants you looking your best,” Gwen told her, glancing nervously at Morgause as she did so. Small wonder, because Morgana knew that what Gwen was really doing was blocking her view of the horror behind her. “Here, I have a little paint, let me just…”

“Step aside before your head joins Uther’s on that spike, you stupid girl!” Morgause snapped angrily. “Nobody can see whether she’s completely immaculate or not up here.”

Gwen did as she was bid, but not before she’d given Morgana’s hand a kind, sympathetic squeeze. And she had succeeded in her intent anyway. Cenred had bid Valiant sit over on his other side in a place of honour while Gwen was fussing and wherever the grisly trophy was it was out of Morgana’s immediate view. On a spike by the sounds of it. There had been a gruesome row of heads in various stages of decomposition at the far end of the balcony. Morgana had walked past them on the way in. Most were just skulls, picked clean by birds or simply rotted away. But there was one that still had a little skin and hair that had looked vaguely like Godwin, king of Gawant. Another, fresher but badly mauled had borne a more than passing resemblance to Caerleon.

She shed no tears for Caerleon who had murdered Gruffydd, Morwenna and presumably their two children too. Kind people all of them, friends of Camelot. But Godwin had been a friend too. Godwin, and also his kind-hearted but hopelessly ditzy daughter Elena. Morgana had almost retched at the sight and she supposed that reaction combined with her initial reluctance to wave to the crowd had led to Morgause casting a compulsion over her.

At least that meant that Morgana now didn’t have to react at all in any way. She just hoped that if Arthur was down there somewhere, able to see her, he would understand that she wasn’t just accepting their situation. Uther had done terrible things, there was no question of it. But Cenred and Morgause were worse.

As the arena was cleared far below them, Morgause leaned forward to whisper to her. “If I release you, will you behave? Close your eyes just once if you agree. Remember, I can freeze you again in a moment. It can’t be comfortable being like that.”

Morgana closed her eyes. A moment later she found that she could move freely again.

“_Don’t_ look to the right,” Gwen hissed in her ear.

But anything else Gwen might have said was lost. Morgana immediately knew that she was going to vomit. Morgause must have realised this – perhaps it always happened to people after compulsion – and shoved a bowl into her hands.

“Clean it up afterwards,” Morgause hissed at Gwen. And that instruction alone made Morgana ensure she retched into the bowl and nowhere else. She was somehow on her knees on the balcony floor, not even sure how she’d got there. Gwen was holding back her hair, stroking her back soothingly and talking gently to her.

“I’m here, my lady, it’ll soon be over.”

There was a fresh bowl in front of her. It looked as if it might have recently held food, which explained where they were finding them up there. But there was nothing left in Morgana to come back up, and the dry retching lasted a thankfully short time. Then there was a cool wet cloth gently washing her face and Gwen still saying soothing words, words that slowly started to make sense again.

“Are you ready to sit back up again?” Gwen asked. “The gladiators are coming out to fight now.”

The gladiators. Arthur, Leon and anyone else still alive. Not Kay, brave and loyal soul that he had been. But perhaps Arthur and Leon would be given fairer fights. Arthur had to be, otherwise surely Morgause would never have let Morgana go free. Or perhaps he just wasn’t there.

“Help me up,” Morgana urged. She leaned heavily on Gwen as she stood. The compulsion seemed to leave her limbs weak afterwards. Or perhaps that was just the shock of what she’d witnessed.

“Remember, don’t look to the right,” Gwen urged as she helped Morgana back into the chair. “Just sit here, I won’t be long, I just have to clear this away.”

It took a moment for what Gwen was saying to sink in, and by the time it had done so Gwen had already started to leave.

“No, don’t go…” Morgana began, turning to look after Gwen who was heading for the steps at the other end of the balcony. And then she froze, held in place more firmly than Morgause’s spell had ever managed. Because Gwen was running past Cenred, and Valiant, and then…

“Not a sound,” Morgause reminded her. “That compulsion spell takes very little energy. I can keep it up for the rest of the day without any difficulty.”

Morgana didn’t think she _could_ utter a sound. Not even the scream that was shrieking through her brain as she stared at the newest horrific trophy on Cenred’s row of dead king’s heads. It didn’t even look that much like Uther now, not really. Just another dead man.

Arthur was king now, she told herself. Arthur was the rightful king, and she was the rightful crown princess, heir to the throne of Camelot. She would conduct herself as such, cold and regal, loyal to her homeland. She would do what she had to in order to stay alive, nothing more. She would never, ever forget that she was a captive of the enemy. And one day, when the chance arose, she would find a way to get revenge for everything that had been done.

And so Morgana bowed her head to Uther, to Godwin and to the others who she would never know. It probably looked as if she were bowing to Cenred, but she would never do that. She turned back to face the crowd, her head held high and her expression cold.

Down in the arena a group of gladiators were marching in. Arthur was not among them. They stopped in the middle of the arena and saluted Cenred. Then, surprisingly, they turned and saluted her as well.

Morgana rose to her feet, trying to ignore how shaky she still felt. She raised her hand to wave, forcing a smile onto her face. They were warriors after all. It wouldn’t hurt to have even a few of them on her side.

Morgause was watching her curiously but Morgana paid her no mind, as if she wasn’t even there.

\---

Arthur was in shock.

He knew it, he’d seen it in his men enough times over the years. Losing friends, lovers, family… they all had that same devastated look to them. Sometimes they took a long time to recover, other times they drew strength from somewhere and rallied fast. Too fast. They’d crash again later.

At that moment Arthur wasn’t sure which camp he was going to fall into. He felt numb. He’d only moved from the arena gates on the insistence of the others. If Leon and Merlin weren’t there he wasn’t sure what he would have done. Perhaps he would have stayed at the gate until it opened then tried to get across the arena floor and up the steps that Valiant had used. He would have tried to kill Cenred.

He wouldn’t have got halfway across before he was cut down and he knew it.

Arthur needed to stay calm and focussed, he knew that as well. But the anger inside him was welling up, threatening to take over. The only way to keep it pushed down was to stay feeling numb.

“Arthur,” Leon was there in front of him again. And Merlin, the young physician/slave who seemed to be everywhere.

They were back down in the holding area again. It wasn’t nearly as full as before. Many of the gladiators were still up at the gate, waiting to go into the arena. Gwaine, Elyan and Lancelot were amongst them. And some of the Camelot recruits as well. As Arthur looked around, trying to concentrate on where he was and what he needed to focus on, he realised that most of those from Camelot who had been herded back down away from the arena had already left again. All except Leon, who was looking at him worriedly.

“Did you hear me, Arthur?” Leon asked. “I have to go with the others.”

“Where?”

“We’re on after Gwaine’s group. Only the gods know what they’ll have us do, but all the Camelot fighters are up as the next entertainment. But not you. Stay here with Merlin, listen to him.”

They’d only known Merlin briefly. He wore those restraints on his wrists, the mark of a sorcerer supposedly not loyal to Cenred. But from what Arthur had just seen, anyone Cenred didn’t like met a grisly end. Merlin could be a spy, just pretending to be their friend. And Leon… what was Leon about to face? Arthur knew he might never see his friend again. Leon had been with him almost his entire life. They’d trained together, fought together…

“Stay alive,” Arthur urged.

Leon gave a small smile that was almost a grimace at that. “I’ll try,” he promised.

“Move it!” Dagr yelled from the doorway.

Leon gave Arthur a brief hug, then was gone. Only Merlin remained, along with a few stragglers that Arthur didn’t recognise. They looked as if they weren’t really fit enough to fight so might have been left to sit out. That meant there was just him, by himself.

“I’m going to be solo entertainment then,” Arthur surmised. “Just me.”

Merlin was looking as worried as Leon had. “I don’t know what they’ll do,” he admitted. “And I’m so sorry about your father, Arthur. So very sorry.”

“He’d have burned you at the stake so you can’t be all that sorry,” Arthur pointed out bitterly. “You’re a sorcerer.”

Merlin nodded. “Perhaps. But I didn’t see that side of him. And I’ve seen Cenred do worse.” He looked down at the iron cuffs encircling his wrists, then held them up to show Arthur. “I can’t reach my magic with these on. I’m no sorcerer like this.”

The skin at the edges of the cuffs looked red and sore. Arthur wondered if they actually hurt Merlin. And Morgana too, as she wore similar bindings. It would have been a better way to deal with magic in Camelot, he realised. At least people wouldn’t have lived their lives in fear.

“You could swear allegiance to Cenred,” Arthur told him.

Merlin just shook his head. “He threatened my mother, or his people did. When they took me. Cenred rounded up all the sorcerers too you know? He just didn’t kill us. My mother tried to hide me because I was powerful. But Cenred’s people found me. They were going to kill her but I said I’d go with them. That was three years ago. I’ve never seen her since.” There were actual tears standing out in Merlin’s eyes at the memory.

Those sores suddenly looked worse. If they’d been on Merlin’s wrists all that time then whatever was underneath would definitely be painful. But not as painful as the look on Merlin’s face when he spoke of home. Arthur could relate. He’d lost his home too. And his parent, though in that Merlin couldn’t compete. Arthur tried to push the recent memory away. He couldn’t think about Uther if he was to survive.

“I hope you see her someday,” Arthur said gently. “I hope you get out of here.”

Merlin gave him a small, shy smile. “Well I hope you do too. You’re not quite as big a prat as I thought you were when we first met!”

“Prat?” Arthur laughed incredulously. “You can’t speak to me like that!”

But of course Merlin could, because Arthur was nobody now. That didn’t stop them both laughing at it. Perhaps the laughter sounded hollow and forced but Arthur didn’t care. He was going to keep on trying, keep on living. He’d make allies, just like his father had told him. And one day he’d get his kingdom back. Powerful, Merlin had said. He’d keep Merlin on his side then, and perhaps one day they’d both find a way. But for the time being he could just be a friend. Arthur was definitely going to need those.

Behind them the door to the holding area opened, and an injured gladiator was carried through.

“Physician!” one of the men carrying him yelled. “Over here!” They were placing the wounded man on one of the long tables that had earlier held food. But then, disease was probably rife down there and nobody in power was going to care if they all died of some epidemic. Unless it ruined their arena games of course.

Merlin glanced across, then looked worriedly back at Arthur.

“Go,” Arthur urged. “Help him.”

Merlin still looked hesitant. “I promised your friend Leon that I’d stay with you.”

“And I’m right here. Help him.”

“Pendragon!” Dagr’s voice rang out from the doorway as Merlin hurried across to his patient. “Get over here!”

Time to find out what they had in store for him, Arthur realised. He looked over to Merlin, who was leaning over the groaning gladiator. Whatever else he might be, Merlin seemed to be a good enough physician. Arthur hoped he wouldn’t need his new friend’s help later.

Feeling strangely unafraid (and he knew that was just the numbness still making its hold on him known) Arthur made his way over to where the muscular, bald-headed guard was waiting. Merlin looked up as Arthur passed and briefly raised a bloody hand.

“Good luck.”

Arthur hoped that wasn’t an omen.

“Move!” Dagr ordered. “You’re on next!”

Arthur glared at him. “And what am I supposed to do? Read poetry? Juggle? Would you like me to sing? You won’t enjoy that last one. Apparently I’m tone deaf!”

“Shut up and walk!” Dagr growled, giving him a sharp shove. “You’re a gladiator. You’ll fight.”

“And what am I going to fight?” Arthur snapped back. “Animals like you used to slaughter my people? A group of men all trying to win their freedom by taking my head like they took my father’s? What kind of unfair odds are you going to give me? Back in Camelot our tournaments were fair. We didn’t kill people. If someone was injured in a contest they were allowed to withdraw. You didn’t win by cutting everyone down.”

“And yet Camelot is no more,” Dagr pointed out. “You lost.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Arthur retorted. “What am I fighting?”

Dagr shrugged. “One of our best. You’re supposed to be so good, we’re giving you a challenge. You were going to be up against Valiant but he’s won his freedom, so we’ve pulled out the champion from one of the other gladiator schools.”

That didn’t sound particularly reassuring. But if it was a remotely fair fight, Arthur knew he had a good chance of winning. It wasn’t a boast when he said that he was the best fighter in Camelot. He really was. The trouble was, the opponent wasn’t from Camelot.

Arthur continued to follow Dagr down several long corridors. He wasn’t sure whether he would be able to find his way back. It felt like a maze. This was an area of the underside of the arena that Arthur hadn’t yet seen. There was no natural light, only torches. There were screams and crashes from above and the ceiling shook. Was he walking underneath the arena floor? Were those the sounds of the battles going on? The roar of the crowd was so loud that he could feel the vibration through the floor that he walked on. Perhaps it was Leon out there? Perhaps Gwaine’s group were still fighting? There was no way of knowing and he wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed down in the holding area when he was just dazed by what had happened. If the injured had started arriving from Gwaine’s group then it might well have been some considerable time. He hoped that his friends would survive. He’d seen too much death that day.

The corridor opened up finally into a larger area held up with pillars. In the centre was what looked like a platform lift, strongly made with wheels and pulleys alongside it. It was up and in place at that moment, sealing the arena floor. There were several men sitting near the pulleys. From their ragged dress and despondent demeanour Arthur assumed they were slaves. There were also a number of guards standing around. They were probably there to protect the armoury.

Over to the right was a long rack of weapons – swords, spears, nets and tridents. There was a pile of shields beside it. They obviously didn’t take that great care of their weapons. Dagr indicated the armoury, such as it was.

“Take your pick. One shield, one weapon… I’m assuming you’re going for the swords?”

“What will my opponent be using?” Arthur didn’t hold out much hope for a sensible reply.

Sure enough, Dagr just laughed, and went over to one of the other guards. The man appeared to be a friend of Dagr’s – they more or less ignored Arthur and started talking.

For an insane moment Arthur wondered whether he could make a stand down there and break for freedom. He had the weapons, and perhaps if the slaves joined his side they could overpower the guards. There were eight guards that he could see, and four slaves…

The faces of the slaves said it all. They hadn’t even bothered to look up when Arthur and Dagr entered. They were sitting on the dusty floor, staring at the ground, no interest in anything. Broken. He thought of Merlin then, and the way that the young physician had said that he was a slave. Perhaps Merlin was, but not like this. Merlin was still relatively free to move around. Merlin still had his personality.

There was no hope that the four slaves would help him, and they’d be useless even if they did. No, Arthur decided, he would have to bide his time and wait until there was a better opportunity. Assuming he survived the upcoming fight.

Instead he picked through the swords and shields, looking for the best ones. All of the shields would have been sent back to the craftsmen at Camelot for repair. They’d been well used and not one of them was without the signs of being used in many a battle.

He chose one that wasn’t too heavy and seemed fairly strong, then moved on to the swords. Arthur was used to the best, and the motley selection before him was very far from that. Not one of those swords would have been his choice, but he had to take what he could. Again he was looking for weight and strength – the last thing he wanted was for a damaged weapon to break off in his hand while he was fighting for his life. Whoever he met up in the arena was going to be skilled. They’d also be looking for victory. Gwaine had explained to him earlier how victories could lead to gladiators eventually earning their freedom. Arthur had no doubt that killing him would take any gladiator far closer to that goal.

For himself, freedom seemed unlikely.

Above them the noise of the fighting seemed to have died away. Arthur could hear someone talking to the crowd again, although he couldn’t make out what they were saying. The crowd knew to be silent, so it was probably Kanen announcing his next event. Kanen seemed to be hugely popular, giving the people what they wanted out there. Another one that Arthur would have liked to run through, given the chance.

Arthur picked a sword, then looked around in a vain hope that there might be armour. There was nothing, just the tattered and bloodied shirt that he had been wearing for days. It wouldn’t protect him against anything.

“You’re next,” Dagr called to him.

“Do I get armour?” Arthur asked, knowing the answer. “A helmet?”

Dagr and his friend exchanged an amused look. “His highness wants armour!” Dagr exclaimed.

“We don’t do armour here,” his friend explained. “You have to earn that.”

So. Arthur’s opponent would have earned armour, being a champion already. It wasn’t going to be a particularly fair fight. Not that Arthur had expected it to be.

“You need to lose the shirt as well,” Dagr pointed out. “Can’t have you going up there like that, can we, Ebor.”

“The ladies like it,” Ebor agreed. “Though his highness here doesn’t like the ladies, does he? We heard the rumours.”

“He’ll probably want one of us as his prize if he wins!”

Gods forbid, Arthur thought. He’d sooner shag a sheep!

“Shouldn’t I have a prize _worth_ winning rather than one of you?” he retorted.

Ebor’s smile faded and he took a threatening step forward. “Why you…”

“Leave him,” Dagr advised. “It’s not as if he’s going to win. And if he does… we’ll find him something _suitable_.”

All the rest of the guards laughed at that too. Arthur weighed the sword in his hand carefully, wondering whether it might just be worth it to be cut to pieces just to first wipe the smile off Dagr’s smug face. He could probably kill both of them before the other guards cut him down.

“Pendragon.”

A tall, thin moustached man with long dirty brown hair strode into the room. Dagr and Ebor noticeably stood straighter the moment they saw him. Arthur just regarded the newcomer blankly. They might be important to the guards, but as far as Arthur was concerned it was just another enemy.

“Why isn’t he ready?” the man snapped at Dagr. “Shirt off, armour on. Those were your orders.”

Dagr muttered an apology, while Ebor hurriedly produced a battered-looking metal breastplate which he carried over to Arthur.

Arthur just looked at it, then at the newcomer. “And who are you?”

The man actually looked quite pleased at the reaction. “Spirit! The crowd will love you. Cedric Sigan, you’re assigned to my school. I purchased you and effectively, from this point on, you’re my property. I expect a good return on you, Arthur Pendragon. So, shirt off.” He ran an appreciative hand over Arthur’s biceps. “Perfect! I suppose we have no time for oil?”

Arthur blinked at him, shrugging off the offending hand. “Oil?”

“You’re quite muscular. Not unattractive either. We can market you accordingly and I usually have the more attractive fighters oiled up first. Looks better. I take it you really can fight, you’ve not just been up against people who let you win all your life?” Cedric didn’t wait any longer and started to help Arthur with his shirt. Arthur brushed the other man’s hands away and removed it himself. With the breastplate though, he reluctantly accepted Cedric’s help in tying it in place. It wasn’t much protection at all but it was better than nothing.

“What am I fighting?” Arthur asked. He supposed, correctly, that Cedric would be more likely to tell him than the guards.

“A champion of one of the rival schools. He fights with the net, dagger and trident. Huge man, almost always wins. In your favour is the fact that he rarely kills. We were lucky there.”

“And the schools, what are they?”

“Gladiator schools!” Cedric told him cheerfully. “There are three! We just lost our best fighter, Valiant.”

Arthur knew that. He’d been there, seen. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of Cedric yet, so just nodded grimly. “Yes, he earned his freedom for killing my father.”

“That’s right,” Cedric did not seem at all bothered. Unsurprising really, Uther had been a figure of hate in Essetir, but the callous attitude was a bit much. It didn’t bode well. “But we don’t want to kill you. Now, he’ll try to trap you in the net then bring you down and disable you. You need to keep out of range and try to finish him quickly. He’s bigger than you, if you let it drag on you’ll stand no chance.”

Arthur had, rarely, fought retiarius before. It had been a popular style a few centuries before when the Romans had settled in Britain but generally had died out. Cenred seemed to have based his arena on the Roman style, so it was unsurprising that there was some nod to the types of gladiator from back then. The trouble was, on the few occasions that Arthur had fought against an opponent with a trident, dagger and net, he had come off second best. No need for Cedric to know that though. Arthur would have preferred a bigger shield, given his new knowledge, but there hadn’t exactly been a good choice on offer.

“Does he have any weaknesses?”

Cedric looked pleased at the question. “You’ll be faster than he is. And he’s still recovering from an injury on his left side. Mostly healed but if you keep to that side of him you’ll stand a better chance. Now, you’re ready?”

Arthur wasn’t sure that he ever would be. “Yes.”

“Excellent. Stand here.”

Cedric beckoned to Arthur and indicated that he should stand on the large oblong wooden platform that lifted the gladiators up into the arena. Arthur wasn’t entirely sure that he trusted it. The contraption had various levers and pulleys, operated by slaves, and didn’t look particularly solid. Yet it was used regularly and hadn’t broken yet. Or, at least not as far as he knew.

“Move! Unless you want me to make you!” Dagr snapped.

Reluctantly Arthur did as he was bid. No point in going in already injured. This was going to be hard enough without that. The platform wobbled slightly when he stepped onto it, which didn’t fill him with confidence.

“What happens if I fall off?” he asked Cedric.

“Don’t.”

It wasn’t helpful. The platform started to move so Arthur stayed perfectly still, hoping that would be enough for the thing to remain steady. Above him a trapdoor had opened and he could see daylight. As he was carried up, right into the centre of the arena, he caught his breath. Before, when he’d been watching from one of the cages at the sides with only a narrow view of the place, Arthur hadn’t quite realised how huge the arena really was.

It was breath-taking. The arena was a vast circus, ringed entirely by tiers of seats that loomed up above him. They rose up far higher than the spectator areas at Camelot ever had. There was no comparison between the two places. If things had been different he might have thought it something they could have aspired to back at Camelot. It would have been an amazing place to hold tournaments. Friendly tournaments where the only injuries were accidental.

But this was not Camelot. And the injuries would not be accidental.

Arthur could smell the blood from the last fight. Oh, they’d tried to cover the offending patches on the arena floor with sawdust but the scent was still there in the air. Blood, sawdust, sweat… there was the lingering stink of the animals from earlier too. And the proximity of the crowd blocking out so much of the fresh air from above just made it worse.

The crowd…

The roar of the crowd when he appeared was deafening. They were almost as daunting as any opponent. There were so many people, and it sounded as if they were already baying for his blood. Arthur had only ever fought in tournaments at home, where he was the crown prince and nobody would dare do other than cheer him on. Not that Arthur wanted that. He was all about the fair fight and the honourable win. But people had been afraid of his father…

Arthur tried to push thoughts of his father out of his mind as the square of wood he was standing on perfectly sealed up the hole in the arena floor. There was no escape.

His father had died out there, with the screaming crowd urging his killer on, then cheering as Uther had been killed. Arthur was not going to think about it. And Arthur was not going to die.

He raised his sword, saluting the crowd. The tone of their cheering changed slightly, or perhaps he was just imagining it. Still, he continued to salute them, turning in a slow circle to take in the entire arena.

“ARTHUR!”

Morgana’s voice reached him through the noise of the crowd. She was up there on the royal balcony, leaning over the edge and applauding him, showing the crowd exactly who she favoured. And she was alive and well after the horror that had happened there earlier. Relatively, anyway, as she looked pale and drawn. He doubted that he looked much better. At least she was free of whatever enchantment she’d been subjected to earlier. Though Morgause was right next to her and didn’t look happy.

He raised his sword again, pointing it towards her then bowing to her with as much respect as he could. The crowd didn’t appear to hate her, and he wondered if she was trying to win him popularity by showing him favour. It did seem to be working, as the crowd suddenly began to cheer loudly.

Except, the cheering wasn’t for Arthur.

Morgana faltered in her support, stopping cheering for him briefly as she gazed at something behind him. Arthur didn’t need to look around to know that his opponent had just arrived in the arena. Quickly he turned to see what he would have to face.

His opponent was a tall, muscular man. Significantly taller and more muscular than Arthur, though Arthur wasn’t exactly lacking in either of those areas. He wore a crested helmet, as if he didn’t have enough advantage already, and had shining armour over one shoulder. Aside from that all he wore was a belted loincloth with a dagger stuck in the belt. Generally the lack of cover just made him look bigger. He carried a trident in one hand and a weighted net in the other. If he was as handy with those as he looked it could be a very short fight.

Worse, his opponent was extremely popular with the crowd. They were all chanting his name – Per-civ-al – and that drowned out the sparse support Morgana had been gathering for Arthur. It didn’t stop her though, he could still hear her. Or perhaps it was his imagination? Whatever, he clung to it. The noise from Percival’s supporters was overwhelming.

Kanen was having trouble being heard, but Arthur could make out something about what a great champion Percival was and how many gladiators he’d defeated. It was something at least that Kanen didn’t say killed. Arthur could just hope that Percival was fair. Though if he was popular in the arena then from what Arthur had seen the chances of fairness were slight.

“And his opponent is our newest gladiator, Arthur Pendragon. Let’s hope he’s a better fighter than his father!”

Arthur was going to kill Kanen too. He had a list in his head and it was growing longer by the hour. He gripped his sword tightly, determined not to show any reaction to the barb. At any rate, Percival was approaching and the fight was beginning.

Arthur knew how it could go. Percival was circling him, that weighted net in one hand, ready to throw the moment Arthur gave him an opening. In some ways the net was more dangerous than the trident – Arthur had seen men disarmed with it. Without his sword Arthur would meet a quick end. He tried to remember what Cedric had said. Percival’s left side was injured. That was the side to aim for. It was also on the opposite side to that net.

Arthur feinted to the left, then darted to the right and tried to get a strike in. But Percival was fast and ready for him, moving quickly to avoid Arthur’s sword. The movement left Arthur within range for a moment, and Percival took the opportunity to throw the heavy net.

It almost worked. Arthur ducked to the side but his shield caught in the net and entangled him. All Arthur could do was throw the shield aside. There was no chance of retrieving it as Percival immediately attacked with the trident. Arthur threw himself backwards, the sharp prongs scratching a thin line of blood across his shoulder. The breastplate stopped the wound reaching his chest, though it rattled ominously and Arthur didn’t think it would stay in place for long.

Percival jabbed the trident at him again, and again. With the length of Percival’s arms combined with the length of the trident, there was just no getting near him with the sword. The two of them circled one another warily, the crowd roaring every time Percival tried to pierce Arthur’s unprotected limbs with the trident.

It wasn’t a good way to fight. Arthur preferred swords. Fairer, more balanced. But Cedric had been right about Percival, he _was_ favouring his left side a little. Arthur tried feinting again but this time Percival was ready for him and the sharp prongs of the trident dug into Arthur’s shoulder.

It hurt, but Arthur used it as an opportunity to duck down and dive at Percival’s unprotected legs, throwing his entire weight at the larger man and trying to knock him off his feet. Percival staggered but just about kept his balance. He dropped the trident though and Arthur quickly half-kicked, half-pushed it away, scrambling back to a safe distance and keeping his sword pointed at Percival.

The odds were better without the trident. Arthur knew he’d been lucky so far, but he was bleeding from the wounds in his shoulder. Percival on the other hand was relatively unscathed so far and still had the dagger.

Percival was a lot quicker and more agile than his size suggested. He’d already pulled out the dagger from his belt, never taking his eyes off Arthur. Arthur also saw him glance every now and then at the fallen trident. Of course Percival was going to try to reach it again at the earliest opportunity. Arthur needed to keep its location in his head because he was unlikely to make a second lucky strike if Percival got it back. He could tell his opponent was far too skilled to fall for that twice.

The dagger was shorter than Arthur’s sword, but combined with the extra reach of Percival’s arms it was close to an equal match. In weapons, at least. Arthur had no illusions as to his chances if they lost their remaining weapons and ended up in some sort of desperate wrestling match. Percival could probably snap Arthur’s neck like a twig.

But whatever advantage Percival had in brawn, Arthur had more of an advantage – he was master of the art of sword fighting. He’d tried to shut out the crowd, but as the pair of them fought on he was aware of a change in the atmosphere. They appreciated a good match, it entertained them. Arthur hated the idea of death as entertainment, but he wasn’t going to let that show. He needed to win their affection as much as he needed to defeat Percival.

It wasn’t an easy match by any means. Percival was skilled too and would have made a fine addition to Camelot’s knights, given a chance. But Arthur was better, and eventually prevailed. He wrong-footed Percival, and pushed home his advantage. Moments later Percival was on his back, Arthur’s sword at his throat and the fight was over. The crowd didn’t exactly roar their approval, obviously not quite sure that they should given who he was and given how popular Percival obviously was. But some of them did applaud Arthur, and that gave others the courage to do the same. He didn’t dare remove his sword from Percival’s throat to acknowledge the appreciation though, lest his opponent use the distraction to scramble to his feet and run Arthur through. Percival didn’t appear to be a dishonourable fighter, but his life was now hanging in the balance and Arthur could hardly blame him if he did everything he could to save it.

“Yield?” Arthur demanded. He really didn’t want to kill the other man.

“Doesn’t work like that,” Percival told him hoarsely, struggling to speak with the blade against his neck. “We don’t decide.” He nodded towards the royal balcony, where Cenred was standing watching them.

Of course Cenred would have stolen every little part of the old Roman culture that appealed to him. Deciding if a defeated warrior lived or died would have appealed a great deal. He was standing there, his arms held out to the crowd, clearly basking in all the attention.

“Should he live or die?” Cenred called to them. There was a roar from the crowd. “What’s that? Where does he go? The gate of death?”

“Your king is a cruel man,” Arthur breathed.

“Not my king,” Percival growled. “His men killed my family, my friends. He’s no more my king than he is yours.”

Arthur definitely wanted Percival to live, though wasn’t so gullible as to take the blade from his opponent’s throat. He’d ask Merlin and Gwaine later, perhaps, see if Percival could be trusted. But Percival was from a rival school so Gwaine would probably know nothing. Merlin on the other hand probably got everywhere as physician.

“And he’s definitely not my king,” Arthur agreed. “But I don’t think there’s anyone here who would expect otherwise.”

Cenred continued to question the crowd. There was no doubt that they liked Percival and wanted him to live but Cenred was pretending not to understand. At any moment the crowd could get tired and change their minds.

Percival nodded. He was watching Cenred worriedly. “What he did to your father… to all the defeated kings… It was wrong.”

The crowd were starting to chant Percival’s name. Cenred smiled, as if he were giving them some great gift.

“I dislike losers, but I love my people.”

That was a lie but they lapped it up, cheering their king loudly.

“Percival, you live to fight another day!” Cenred called. The crowd cheered the decision, but Cenred gestured for quiet. “That means, Arthur Pendragon, that you do _not _murder this brave warrior! He is as beloved of my people as you are not. Release him!”

Arthur was glad enough to do that. He lowered his sword, and offered a hand to Percival, helping him to his feet then shaking hands respectfully.

“You fought well,” Percival told him.

“As did you. We would have been pleased to have you as a knight of Camelot.”

Percival smiled. “Perhaps one day,” he said, as he raised his hands and applauded the crowd for saving him. “Camelot, or some other kingdom. Cenred isn’t loved, and the magic he rules with isn’t his own. Someone will come in eventually and take over. Someone people will follow.” He lowered his hands, stretched them out and applauded Arthur instead. “Raise your sword, acknowledge them. They love winners. They particularly love winners who appear to love them back. They’ll keep you alive, like they kept me alive today.”

Arthur could do that. He raised his sword, saluting the crowd just as he had when he entered the arena. But this time they were cheering for him, moreso because Morgana was up there on the balcony too, leading the applause, smiling delightedly.

He knew she would feel as little like smiling on that day as he did. But she knew to play the game as well. He bowed to each corner of the arena, and then to her, deepest of all.

Percival let him carry on for a little while longer, then nodded towards the gates. “We should leave now,” he advised. “I think Kanen’s going to bring on wyverns next. We don’t want to still be here when they come in.”

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure who or what wyverns were, but he was happy to follow Percival’s friendly advice. They jogged over to one of the gates. Cenred had said something about the gate of life and Arthur wondered if this was it or whether the term was just symbolic. More to ask Merlin and Gwaine. He knew he had a lot to learn – his next opponent was unlikely to be as amenable to helping as Percival was.

The gate opened for them, and they went inside. Arthur could see Cedric heading towards him, rubbing his hands together delightedly. Arthur still couldn’t quite get his head around the fact that Cedric seemed to think that Arthur was his property.

Percival turned to nod to Arthur respectfully as Cedric approached. “Until next time, Arthur Pendragon,” he said, then turned and walked away in the opposite direction to Cedric.

Arthur wished he could do the same.

\---


	4. Chapter 4

The first fight in the arena for new gladiators was always brutal.

Merlin hated watching the often very one-sided events but he was in the minority in Essetir. It was a popular event, watching captives from a conquered nation struggle to survive in a completely unfamiliar atmosphere.

Camelot’s new gladiators had performed much as expected. There had been two fatalities and several injured. Only Leon had returned mostly unscathed. Most of the blood on him was from supporting Galahad who could barely walk.

Galahad probably didn’t know how lucky he was. Apparently he’d managed to defeat his opponent but only barely, and been badly wounded himself in the process. Leon had reached him and helped him to his feet so that he could claim victory. Merlin had seen situations where both gladiators were executed when they were so injured that neither could stand to make a claim. It was never popular with the crowd when that happened, so support from friends was allowed. Galahad’s opponent was already half-dead by all accounts so it wouldn’t even have been unfair.

If Merlin had been tempted to go and watch Arthur, that temptation was gone as soon as Galahad arrived. The young knight was bleeding profusely from a number of wounds. Leon and Gwaine were both supporting him, with Elyan rushing ahead of them to find Merlin.

It was going to be a busy day, Merlin knew. He’d already patched up several fighters and Galahad was going to take some time to help.

“What can I do to help?” Leon asked.

There was going to need to be stitching at the least. Galahad groaned loudly, then more when Merlin started to cut away his bloodied clothing.

“I’ll probably need you to hold him still for me,” Merlin admitted. “Gwaine, get some whisky. Have Ellie bring in some water so that I can clean up the wounds.”

“Try to save him,” Leon whispered. “Camelot lost enough today.”

Merlin nodded, concentrating on what he was doing. It was going to take time. One of the wounds on Galahad’s leg would have to be cauterised, it was bleeding too heavily to stitch and applying pressure wasn’t stopping the flow. Elyan was good at helping with cauterisation. A blacksmith’s son, he was one of the few down there who could heat up a suitable tool without ending up needing treatment himself.

“You need me to do my thing?” Elyan asked quietly. Merlin nodded, and Elyan immediately hurried off. It was something Merlin really liked about the gladiators – they mostly looked after one another. Not the ones like Valiant had been but most of the others were more than willing to step up if one of their friends were injured. Elyan would have gone to find a sword or large knife and soon enough would be heating it up ready for helping close the wound. He’d do that too if Merlin needed him to.

Ellie hurried over with a cloth and water. Sometimes it didn’t really matter that Merlin didn’t have any other physicians working with him because really he had a whole support team there to assist. But he was only a trainee at best, and when he was faced with a badly injured patient like Galahad he wished he wasn’t alone.

There _were_ other physicians serving the arena of course. But they were few and far between. Most liked to look after those gladiators who had almost earned their freedom and therefore would be beneficial going forward. Or those who were popular in the arena, as that provided them with kudos with patients outside. Gwaine and Elyan could both command far more prestigious medical support than Merlin. They never did though.

“You’re less likely to kill me,” Gwaine had told him. Unfortunately he’d said it in his Gwaine-like way right in front of the most prestigious of all the arena physicians. Somehow Merlin had been blamed for that and had to explain himself to Edwin later when the physician had complained about the insult.

There’d been a beating for that. He’d never told Gwaine, and never would because the man would feel horrible. Enough that Gwaine thought Merlin had been reprimanded and swore he’d not say anything like it again.

The clear water Ellie had brought was bright with blood in moments. Soon she was fetching more. Galahad was quieter, which might have been the whisky Leon had forced him to drink, or might have simply been weakness from lack of blood. There certainly wasn’t time to stitch the wound up, he was losing too much blood.

“Talk to him,” Merlin advised Leon as Elyan returned. “Tell him about your days in Camelot. Keep his gaze focused on you.”

Leon glanced at Elyan, saw the red hot blade that the man was carrying and immediately moved to block Galahad’s view. “Remember that time you were all supposed to be on patrol and Bedivere took you all to the tavern instead?”

“Sounds like my kind of person!” Gwaine joined in. He’d moved to Galahad’s other side, patting him on the shoulder. Merlin knew that would turn into a firm grip the second it was necessary. “Tell me about the ale in Camelot, Leon! Was it as good as they say?”

“Better,” Merlin heard Galahad gasp. That was good, they’d distracted him.

Merlin took hold of Galahad’s leg and nodded to Elyan. “Do it.”

“You should know, you’d drunk enough of it when Arthur and I found you!” Leon told Galahad.

“Arthur liked it too!” Galahad protested. “He joined us. He…ahhhhhhhhh!”

Whatever it was that Arthur had done was lost as Elyan cauterised Galahad’s leg wound. Gwaine, Merlin and Leon all held the young knight as still as they could. Elyan was cool and efficient, Merlin admired him hugely for it. It was why he always asked Elyan for help. Friendly and good-natured as Elyan was, he also had a backbone of steel and always could be relied on to step up when things were difficult. His sister was just the same. Galahad struggled for a moment as Elyan worked, but then his body went slack as the hot blade went down a third time.

“He’s passed out,” Leon confirmed. “It’s for the best.”

“Maybe for you,” Gwaine told him. “I want to hear more about this ale! How much of it did you all drink?”

“I didn’t drink _any_!” Leon exclaimed, affronted at the very idea.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m a knight of Camelot. I don’t drink.”

Gwaine snorted at that. “Doesn’t sound as if that’s a prerequisite for the job. You’re a very sensible man, aren’t you my friend?”

“Yes!” Leon retorted. He didn’t appear to realise that was an insult coming from Gwaine. “Merlin, is Galahad going to be all right?”

Elyan had stopped and was examining the wound, which was a good sign. It hadn’t taken too long for the bleeding to cease.

“It looks hopeful,” Merlin allowed. He’d seen men die from shock or later from disease and wasn’t going to get Leon’s expectations too high. “It’s going to hurt when he wakes up though.”

Behind them Merlin was aware that another gladiator had been brought in, also in a lot of pain judging by the cries. Merlin needed to hurry because nobody was going to them by the sound of it. Another thing the other physicians disliked was dealing with hopeless cases. Merlin at least liked to ease the pain if he could. Not that Galahad would agree.

“Don’t touch that wound,” Merlin warned. “Clean him up as best you can. I think his arm needs stitches. Can any of you do that while I look at the new patient?”

Leon, sensible as he was, nodded. “I’ll do it. You go.”

The new patient wasn’t Arthur. That was one good thing. Merlin didn’t even know if Arthur had gone out into the area yet, or how late into the day or even night they were. When he was underground, working, the hours passed quickly and he would often find when he stepped outside much later after tending all the wounded it was already night-time.

The arena generally shut before it got dark due to the difficulties in ensuring the audience could see what was going on. Sometimes there were displays by the dragonlords, but for the most part there was literally nothing to see at night. If the wounded were still being brought down then the games hadn’t finished for the day.

There was no sign of Arthur though.

That didn’t bode well for the young prince. Merlin had hoped Arthur might be spared after his father’s death, but it was starting to look unlikely.

Ellie came over with water for Merlin, both a bowl for washing and a drink too. He’d often got too engrossed in his work and forgotten to eat and drink himself. Gwen used to look after him but she was up at the palace with the princess. Ellie appeared to be stepping in.

“Thank you.” He took the beaker and drank deeply. The new patient wasn’t as serious as Galahad and Merlin would be finished soon. “Any idea how much longer the games are on for?”

Ellie shook her head. “I heard they’ve brought wyverns out, and that’s the last of it for today. Not much longer, hopefully.”

Merlin tried to ignore the clenching feeling he got in his stomach on hearing that. Sometimes, rarely, they pitted wyverns against humans. The humans never, ever won.

“Arthur won his match though,” Ellie added. “Leon’s really pleased.”

That was good news. Merlin carried on with his work with a lighter feeling. He tried not to examine exactly _why _he was so keen on Arthur surviving. Arthur was a rival king to Cenred now and everyone who was against Cenred should get behind Arthur. That was the reason. Nothing else about how very attractive Arthur was.

Soon enough, Merlin headed back to Galahad, his other patient reasonably comfortable.

Galahad was conscious and pale, but he managed a small smile when he saw Merlin.

“I hear you saved my life.”

“We all did,” Merlin told him. “Team effort.”

“Thank you.”

“Camelot lost enough people today,” Merlin pointed out. He looked around, hoping that Arthur would appear but there was still no sign of him. Instead Merlin took a look at Leon’s handiwork on Galahad’s arm. It was neat, efficient stitching. Exactly what he would expect. “Good work, Leon. You’re on the team now, it’s official!”

Leon looked slightly puzzled until Elyan slapped him on the back.

“Welcome to Merlin’s Minions! I do the cooking, you can do the sewing!”

“I’m not a physician,” Leon pointed out.

“Yeah, neither are we. All we have is Merlin and he needs help down here,” Gwaine told him. “Otherwise we all die. Ah, here’s my Ellie back again!”

Ellie looked worried as she dashed across to them. Gwaine opened his arms in anticipation, seeming to think he was about to get a hug or at least a quick peck on the cheek but no. Ellie was almost in tears and stopped in front of them.

“Valiant’s coming down,” she gasped. “They say he’s collecting his winnings! Can we go? Now?”

Gwaine looked stricken for a moment, then grabbed Ellie by the arm and headed for the door.

“Think I’m calling it a night,” he said very loudly to anyone in earshot. “I won my match so just taking my prize! Gods know this little minx can’t keep her hands off me!” He started to goof around with her a little, not slowing their pace at all but starting to make her giggle, then laugh out loud by the time they’d reached the door. “No Ellie, stop it! People will talk!”

They were gone in moments, the sound of Ellie’s helpless laughter fading away with them. Locked away with Gwaine in his private cell, Ellie would be as safe as she could be. Merlin was just glad that Gwen was no longer working down there and at risk.

Valiant had not come to collect anything. Valiant, apparently, had come to gloat. He turned up a few minutes later with Dagr and Ebor, all three of them looking extremely pleased with themselves. Merlin supposed Valiant had already been on the ale and shared it with his new friends. Though he’d always been quite friendly with Dagr even before the events of that day so perhaps new was the wrong word.

“Where’s Gwaine?”

That was Valiant’s first question as soon as he realised his old nemesis wasn’t there to greet him.

“Not here,” Elyan told him. “Already gone.”

Elyan and Leon had stayed around to help Merlin. Lancelot still hadn’t appeared but Merlin had heard that he’d won his fight so wasn’t too concerned. Sometimes the gladiators took a while to come back. It was the only bit of freedom they got, such as it was, hanging around the gates and talking to their opposite numbers in the other schools. Lancelot, Merlin suspected, was hanging around the gates watching Morgana’s new maid with love-sick eyes.

Valiant came over to see what they were doing, then sniffed disparagingly when he saw the injuries Galahad had sustained. “What’s the point of patching him up? He’s going to be useless for fighting.”

“Some of us prefer to heal people than kill them,” Merlin snapped. He really didn’t like Valiant, and as the man was no longer a gladiator there was no good reason to be civil to him. “You should try it.”

Valiant glared at him. “Don’t you speak to me like that. I’m a free man. Unlike you, slave!”

Merlin opened his mouth to reply, but saw Elyan give a quick shake of his head, and thought better of it.

“Well?” Valiant pressed. “Apologise, _slave_.”

Elyan was gesturing to him to do as he was told, but Merlin wasn’t in the mood to apologise to Valiant. Valiant was a murderous bastard and didn’t deserve any sort of respect. Merlin glared back at him defiantly.

Luckily for Merlin, as Valiant looked as if he were about to hit him, Arthur chose that moment to reappear with Cedric and Lancelot. Cedric had been talking with Arthur, but soon forgot about that when he saw Valiant.

“Valiant! Congratulations!” he bounded across the room to shake the man’s hand. “Magnificent performance. Though I wish you hadn’t killed quite so many of our men! We’re the smallest school now, and I’ve lost you too! I’ve had to spend half the evening negotiating for replacements.”

“I’m joining the King’s guard,” Valiant explained. “I’ll make sure we send plenty more your way from the next kingdom we take over.”

“They won’t all be odds of ten against one injured man,” Arthur told him disgustedly. “You might find it slightly harder.” He didn’t bother waiting for a reply, heading over to what was left of the food from earlier and helping himself.

“Your father wet himself when I killed him,” Valiant called.

Arthur didn’t show any reaction. Merlin had seen enough men die to know that was hardly an unusual thing to have happen. He saw Arthur look inside a few of the jugs until he found one with a little ale left, then pour it for himself. Valiant might as well have not been there for all the reaction that Arthur gave.

“Your friend did too,” Valiant added. “The one that turned traitor.”

“People do that when they die,” Merlin pointed out. “Leave it.”

For a moment Valiant looked furious and Merlin did think he really was going to get punched. But then the other man just looked at Arthur, then looked Merlin up and down, smirked, and walked off with Cedric. At the time Merlin thought that was the end of it.

Arthur didn’t say much to any of them. He thanked Merlin and Elyan for helping Galahad, spent a little time talking with Leon, then left with Lancelot and Elyan, heading for whatever sleep he could get. Merlin doubted he’d manage to get much after a day like that.

After that Leon and Merlin managed to move Galahad down to the gladiator sleeping quarters and Merlin promised to check in on him the next day. Leon was going to stay with him for the night, although Galahad appeared to be out of any immediate danger.

Left alone, Merlin started to gather his things together. It had been a long day and he was tired. He just hoped that when he got back to his home, such as it was, Edwin wouldn’t have left him a long list of chores to get done. Merlin didn’t trust himself not to fall asleep in the middle of it all. He tied up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, then headed for the exit. He got halfway down the corridor beyond before a voice called out to him.

“Slave.”

Valiant hadn’t left.

He was sitting in the guardroom talking with Dagr and Ebor, all three of them sharing a large flagon of ale. They looked as if they might have been there for some time. Merlin had a nasty feeling that Valiant might have been waiting for him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dagr asked.

“Home,” Merlin told him. “My master’s expecting me.” He didn’t think Edwin would even notice, but the guards weren’t to know that.

Valiant got up, the other two following. Merlin glanced around, wishing that some of his stronger friends amongst the gladiators were there. He didn’t know what the three men wanted but did know it wouldn’t be anything good.

“We’re your masters here, slave,” Dagr pointed out. “Your master as you call him hires you out to the arena. There’s nothing that says what you’re supposed to do here.”

Merlin tried to quell the thrill of fear running through him at those words. Dagr was right, of course. There was nothing to stop them doing whatever they liked to him. If he’d had his magic it might have been different but with that locked away he was quite helpless.

“I should go,” Merlin attempted again, but Dagr pulled the bag off his shoulder and dumped it back inside the guardroom out of Merlin’s reach.

“You won’t need that.”

“You don’t need your shirt either,” Valiant told him. “Lose it.”

Merlin froze, unsure of the best way to escape. Edwin would definitely beat him if he returned without his medical bag, but that was the least of his problems at that moment. He didn’t quite understand it either, Valiant had always loudly stated his preferences for women and with his new status would have the pick of them. Why would he want Merlin? Dagr and Ebor had never shown any particular interest either. Not that he’d spent much time with either of them.

“I have to go,” Merlin repeated, backing away and crossing his arms defensively over his chest.

Valiant drew out his sword. “Now, so far we’ve asked nicely, _slave_. We don’t have to be nice. You know the rules in here. Winners get rewards. You slaves are those rewards.”

“I’m not a whore!” Merlin gasped. “Please, you don’t want me.”

Apparently that was very, very funny.

“Us?” Valiant laughed. Ebor wasn’t looking too pleased but Dagr was laughing as hard as Valiant was. “You think _we_ want you?”

“What do you think we are?” Ebor snarled. “Little freak!”

Valiant leaned in close, his face just inches from Merlin’s. Merlin tried to back away further but he’d reached the wall and there was nowhere to go.

“Now, real men like us, we don’t want little boys like you. But that’s not true of everyone here. The king asked me especially to come down here and make sure our gladiators are taken care of properly before I leave. One gladiator in particular. He didn’t specify which male slave, and I don’t see any other slaves down here. Maybe you’ll be a bit more respectful to your betters in future.”

“Maybe next time you’ll work a bit faster,” Ebor added.

“Probably not tomorrow, he’ll have trouble walking after he’s been buggered senseless!” Dagr snorted, and the others laughed.

Merlin darted to the side, trying to escape, but Valiant grabbed hold of him in a painfully tight grip, pressing the sword against Merlin’s neck.

“Enough of being nice. Now strip.”

Trembling with fear, Merlin slowly unbuttoned his shirt. It was too slow for Valiant who just sliced straight through it with his sword and pulled the ruined garment off, then cut through the laces holding Merlin’s breeches up. Merlin grabbed at the material before it slipped off, which just made his antagonists laugh more.

“Please, I’m the physician, you’re making a mistake,” he begged.

“No, _you_ made the mistake when you disrespected me earlier,” Valiant reminded him. “Now it’s payback.” He smacked Merlin across the back of his hands with the sword. It stung, and a second strike made Merlin let go. The loose material pooled around his ankles, catching on his boots. Valiant raised his sword again so Merlin quickly freed himself from the rest of his clothing. He didn’t trust Valiant not to hit him again or even cut him. Naked as the day he was born (apart from the boots) Merlin felt horribly vulnerable. He covered himself with his hands but couldn’t stop the way he was shaking with fear.

“I’m not a whore,” he breathed. “I’m not.”

“They never are, not the first time,” Dagr pointed out. “We’ve needed a male down here for a long time. You’ll do.”

Merlin couldn’t believe how suddenly his life had been turned upside down. But he’d get out, if he survived the night, escape and never come back. Whatever monster he was about to be thrown to, it wouldn’t be forever. There would be a way out. He wasn’t going to be used by anyone who wanted him. He’d seen the way some of the whores looked. Like they were dead inside. He wasn’t going to end up like that.

Valiant grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him down the corridor ignoring all Merlin’s protests and pleas. Dagr had gone ahead, leading the way. They’d got a cell in mind, obviously. It could be anyone. There were some scary men down there.

Ahead of them, Dagr had located the door to the cell that he wanted. These weren’t like the holding cells where Merlin had visited the Camelot prisoners. These had solid doors, private. Nobody could see what went on inside.

Merlin knew he might never get out, because that happened sometimes too. Every now and then a girl would be found dead in the morning, all the life crushed or beaten out of her.

“Please don’t do this,” he attempted one last time as Dagr drew back the bolt. “Please!”

Dagr grinned at Valiant, then opened the door to the cell just wide enough to take Merlin. Valiant pretty much threw Merlin inside onto the stone floor. It hurt, but Merlin tried to do nothing more than gasp because he wouldn’t give Valiant that satisfaction.

“Here’s your prize. We know that’s what you like and we wouldn’t want any bastards. King’s orders. Do what you like to him, nobody cares.”

And then the door slammed shut and Merlin was left in mostly darkness. There was a small amount of light on the other side of the cell but that would be where the gladiator was so Merlin scrambled as far away from it as possible, huddling up in the corner. He could hear the gladiator moving, getting up and walking across to him.

“Oh gods, please don’t… I’m not a whore! I’m the physician… please…” Merlin tried to scrabble further away, but there was nowhere to go. He raised his arm to shield his face, as if that would somehow protect him against any of the gladiators strong enough to win in the arena. “Please don’t…”

[ ](https://imgur.com/FdipTi7)

“Merlin?”

Merlin froze. He knew that voice. Lowering his arm uncertainly, he peered at the silhouette of the man standing over him. With the light behind him it was difficult to make out his features, but there was no mistaking who it was.

“Arthur?”

Arthur crouched down in front of him, and Merlin could see him slightly better, though it was still all shadows.

“I’m not going to hurt you. You know that?”

Merlin nodded, though he didn’t attempt to uncurl. He was butt naked, after all. Arthur got up, went over to the bed and brought back a sheet.

“These aren’t particularly clean, but I’m guessing that’s not high on your priorities right now,” Arthur told him. “Here.” He handed over the sheet, then politely turned away while Merlin wrapped it around himself. Just as Arthur said, it wasn’t the freshest of sheets. But it was a thousand times better than standing there in front of Arthur in nothing but his boots.

“Thank you,” Merlin said quietly. He felt horribly ashamed. What on earth would Arthur think of him? Arthur, of all people. “I was packing up ready to go… back to where I live.” It wasn’t home. Home was a tiny village on the outskirts of Essetir with a mother who loved him. She would have cried if she’d known how he lived now. What he’d almost become. But it was Arthur. Merlin knew he was safe with Arthur. “They jumped me as I left. I’m not… I don’t do this, Arthur.”

“Yes, I got that from the screaming and blind terror,” Arthur told him drily. “And just for the record, neither do I. Can I turn round now?”

In answer, Merlin stepped in front of him, gripping the sheet firmly just in case it slipped. “I’m decent.”

Arthur looked at him and Merlin supposed that in another time and place Arthur would have had a hundred witty things to say about the fact that Merlin was effectively wearing a makeshift gown. But it wasn’t that time or place, and Arthur just nodded sadly. Now that Merlin could see Arthur’s face in the torchlight he realised that the other man’s eyes were quite red and blotchy, as if he’d been crying. Small wonder, he’d probably thought he was alone for the night and had taken the opportunity to mourn his father.

“I suppose you’re here for the night then?” Arthur asked. “I can’t do anything to help, like tell them I don’t want you and have them send you home?”

That stung, even though Merlin knew Arthur had only meant kindness by it, and even though minutes before he would have given anything for the person in the cell not to want him. There was no way that Valiant would let him leave unscathed though, not after Merlin’s cheek earlier. Most likely there were others that Merlin could be given to. Ones who weren’t as kind and decent as Arthur.

“I’d rather stay here until morning, when the guards change,” Merlin confirmed. Most of them were better than Dagr and Ebor. All of them were better than Valiant. “I don’t think they’d send me home. Valiant’s angry with me.”

Arthur nodded. “Not a fraction as angry as I am with him, trust me on that. Valiant can enjoy his freedom while he has it. What he did today… he’ll regret it.”

“Good,” Merlin told him with feeling. “Let me know if you want any help.”

For some reason that was the right thing to say as Arthur stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing. He had a wonderful laugh, rich and deep. The thought of Merlin helping made Arthur laugh so hard that he had to go and sit down on the edge of his bed, still chuckling.

“I _could_ help,” Merlin said grumpily, sitting down beside him because there wasn’t anywhere else. “I could, if I had my magic back.”

“Magic,” Arthur repeated, wonderingly. “I’d have a magic user helping me against a kingdom that rose up against the suppression of magic. Ironic.”

Merlin looked down at the hated cuffs encircling his wrists. One of the sores had broken during the scuffle with Valiant and was bleeding. It would take a long time to heal because something or other would knock against it and break it open again. He knew that from experience.

Arthur touched one of the cuffs gently. “How long have you worn them?

“Three years, or thereabouts,” Merlin told him. “I didn’t have to wear them. I could have agreed to join Cenred’s army, to use my magic as a weapon. Then they would never have been put on me.”

“But you didn’t want to.”

“No. Not for him. I’d use it for an honourable king though. I think I’d use it for someone decent. Someone like you,” he added a little shyly.

“You don’t know me.”

“I don’t know Cenred. But I’ve seen enough of both of you to judge. He doesn’t care about anyone or anything. What he does is wrong. Everything about Essetir is wrong. Look at this place. It’s not entertainment. It’s murder… and I’m so sorry about your father, and about Kay, Arthur. I really am,” he added quickly, realising the direction he was going in.

Arthur nodded grimly, not speaking. It had to be an open, raw wound.

“I’d use my magic, if I had it, for someone or something that I believed in,” Merlin finished. “And that’s not Cenred.”

Arthur looked down at his hands thoughtfully for a moment. Merlin wondered what was going through his mind. Did he keep reliving that moment in the arena when his father was killed? The brutality afterwards?

“Pendragons don’t accept defeat, Merlin,” Arthur said finally. “I’m not going to accept it. So if you want to join an army, I’m recruiting.”

“Even sorcerers who can’t use their magic?”

“Especially them,” Arthur gave him a small smile. Merlin wondered if it was the first time Arthur had smiled since the arena. Probably, judging by the reddened eyes. “They’ll hate Cenred as much as I do!”

Merlin nodded. “Perhaps not that much but I haven’t had the same cause. Not quite. I believe my mother is still alive.”

“What about your father?”

Merlin shrugged. “Never met him. No idea who he is. I suppose he’s a sorcerer, the magic didn’t come from my mother. But he left her, and she never spoke of him. He’s probably either dead or happy to serve in Cenred’s army. I wouldn’t know him if I passed him in the street.”

“I never knew my mother,” Arthur admitted. “She died giving birth to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin repeated.

“Me too,” Arthur said sadly. “People loved her and told me stories about her. She sounded like a wonderful person.”

“I heard of Queen Ygraine when I was growing up. She’s something of a legend for her beauty and kindness.”

“Yes. I would have liked to have known her,” Arthur sighed. Then he looked at Merlin, still wrapped up in the sheet. “But for now we should think about the best way to spend the night.” He tapped the mattress with one hand. “Only one bed, Merlin. I hope you realise I’m not going to behave in any way that’s improper but I’m not sleeping on the floor and I don’t think you should have to either.”

The awful thing was, Merlin realised as he and Arthur tried to make themselves comfortable on the small bed, that it was a better place to sleep than the one he was supposed to call home. Edwin had barely given him more than a thin blanket and some straw to sleep on down in the cellar. Arthur had a mattress and a decent blanket and even a pillow. He’d had a sheet too, but that was now wrapped around Merlin.

“Could this mattress be any more lumpy?” Arthur grumbled, wriggling around trying to get comfortable.

“Better than where I usually sleep,” Merlin admitted. “Warmer blanket too. Or that might be you,” he realised, then froze as he realised what he’d said.

But Arthur laughed. Merlin could feel that laugh shaking through Arthur’s whole body, pressed up close as they were. “That’s probably all I’m good for now. Somewhere warm to sleep. Glad to be of use, Merlin.”

It was warm and comfortable, to Merlin anyway. Arthur fidgeted for a long time, then eventually put his arm around Merlin and cuddled up close.

“Sorry,” he said, and he really did sound as if he was. “There’s just no room.”

Merlin briefly tried to resist the urge to snuggle closer, but there was no point. “I suppose I can tell everyone I slept with a handsome prince,” he teased, daring to flirt a little with Arthur being so close.

“Oh, handsome is it?” Arthur teased back. “Careful Merlin, I might take my sheet back and ravish you after all.”

He must have felt Merlin tense at that, because Arthur immediately let him go.

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. You know you’re safe with me. Honestly sex is the last thing I would want to even think about after today.”

“I know. It’s okay.” Merlin could understand that. It was a pity Valiant had been too stupid to understand it as well. There was just something about Arthur that made Merlin feel at ease. Merlin hadn’t frozen because he’d been scared, not at all. Quite the opposite. But Arthur had misinterpreted it. He reached back for Arthur’s arm, and pulled it back around him, keeping them close.

“Thank you,” Arthur murmured in his ear. Merlin could feel the other man’s breath on his face. He couldn’t help a faint shiver at the sensation, but fortunately Arthur hadn’t noticed.

“I just hope you don’t snore,” Merlin told him.

Arthur snorted. “I’m a… what was it? Handsome prince. We don’t snore, Merlin.”

Merlin smiled to himself at the lighter tone in Arthur’s voice, curled in closer, and closed his eyes.

He’d worry about his predicament in the morning. But just for one night he could enjoy being with Arthur.

\---

Morgana would have done anything to not have gone to the arena that day.

Everything that she had seen there would be seared in her memories for the rest of her life, she had no doubt of that. At least Arthur had emerged victorious, that was something. The one, single good thing in the whole day.

“My lady, can I get you anything?”

No, not the only good thing. Dear Gwen had been so supportive of her. Morgana wasn’t sure how she would have got through it all without Gwen. Gwen had stayed at her side throughout, a single reassuring friendly figure. Gwen was already more of a sister to her than Morgause would ever be.

Morgana had fled to her room as soon as she was allowed to. Before that she had been made to watch the remainder of the arena games. There had been a battle between a wyvern and a lion, then another between a wyvern and a bull. In both cases the wyvern had won. It hadn’t been a clean kill. The crowd had roared with delight.

Monsters. All of them.

And Cenred wanted her to be their beloved queen. She hated them all.

“My lady? Perhaps a bath? That might be soothing.”

Morgana had flung herself down on her bed the moment she entered the privacy of her room. She was still wearing her dress from the arena. It smelled of smoke and other things she would have rather forgotten. The smell was in her hair, it had probably soaked into her pores. A bath wouldn’t take away the hurt but it would help a little bit. Gwen was good, she really was. Morgana sat up, trying to regain a little dignity.

“Thank you. Yes. A bath would be wonderful. You’re so good to me, Gwen.”

Gwen gave her that sweet little smile that she had, bobbed a dainty curtsey, and then hurried out. She would be back soon enough, with other servants helping her carry the water. Those other servants were not to see her being emotional, she had already decided on that. Gwen was different, special. But for the others Morgana went over to the chair and table that she had been given, and sat there looking as regal and aloof as she could.

It worked. They struggled in with their heavy burdens, filling up the bath under Gwen’s direction, and barely looked at Morgana. Gwen had brought soft cloths to dry her with, and scented oils for the water. Her room would smell of that scent afterwards, overpowering the lingering odours of the arena. Morgana watched them coldly, trying to give an air of disapproval.

It was all an act. As soon as the other servants had gone she got to her feet and hurried over to Gwen.

“This smells wonderful, thank you!”

Gwen smiled, pleased. “Let me help you with your dress.”

Morgana was happy enough to let her do that. “Can you take it away and burn it?” she asked as the material slipped from her shoulders into a pool of silk on the floor.

“I don’t think that the king would be pleased, my lady,” Gwen pointed out.

Cenred had made much of the fact that he had provided Morgana with many fine dresses to wear. It was a necessity as almost nothing of her own had travelled from Camelot with her. “I’d sooner wear rags than anything from him,” Morgana said with feeling. She stepped into the bath, Gwen hovering beside her lest she slip and fall.

“I’m sure we could do better for you than that,” Gwen smiled. “I could make you a dress, if you like? I’m a trained seamstress.”

The water was warm and the scent from the oils was very relaxing. It was lavender, possibly with something else but the lavender was quite overpowering.

“You’re too good to me, Gwen,” Morgana sighed as she sank into the water. “The only good thing about being here so far has been meeting you. If only the other citizens of Essetir were as kind and thoughtful. But no, thank you. The material would still have to come from him. It would still remind me.”

It could probably count as treason in Cenred’s eyes that Gwen didn’t even protest it. Perhaps she didn’t care for Cenred either, in which case it had been quite foolish of her to apply for a post at the palace. She was fussing around with Morgana’s discarded clothing, bundling it up to take to laundry. Morgana wondered what Gwen’s story was. Her brother would know Arthur by now, most likely. Perhaps they were friends too?

“Why don’t you sit and talk to me, Gwen,” Morgana advised, starting to wash herself. “Tell me about yourself. You said you were a ladies maid before you came to Essetir? Where did you work? Perhaps I knew the lady?”

Gwen dutifully drew up a stool and sat beside the bath, politely keeping her eyes averted. She really was beyond sweet, Morgana thought. And so like Rachel. Morgause had not yet kept her promise and brought word of Morgana’s old maid but it was still early days.

“We lived in a town called Haleford,” Gwen told her. “It was in Anglia, on the border with Essetir.”

Anglia had been the first kingdom to fall to Cenred. Morgana could recall the time well. Uther and Godwin had called a conference with many of the other kings. Some had left almost as quickly as they arrived, but others had stayed and tried to form an alliance. Rodor of Nemeth, Bayard of Mercia, Odin all the way from Cornwall…

Odin still had his kingdom, as far as Morgana knew. But that was only due to the distance. He’d fall just like the others eventually.

“Haleford was a quiet place. My father had a blacksmith’s shop, my brother was learning the trade. And I went up to the manor to wait on Lady Margaret. She was kind and forgave me my early mistakes. Did you know her, my lady?”

Morgana had never heard of Haleford, or a lady Margaret. “Sadly I have never set foot in Anglia,” she admitted. “Essetir was between Anglia and Camelot and Uther would never have allowed Arthur or myself to undertake such a risky journey.”

Gwen nodded. “I thought so. Anglia fell quickly, and Haleford was one of the first towns to go. The nobles who wouldn’t submit to Cenred’s rule were executed. Lady Margaret and Lord Haleford refused. They were very loyal to their queen.”

“I’m sorry,” Morgana said with feeling. She knew she would have liked the Halefords if she had ever met them.

“Haleford was gutted. In those days the sorcerers made a show of force. They’d violently destroy a place rather than subdue it. And of course the arena was only half built so there was nowhere to use captives as entertainment.” Gwen almost spat that last word out.

“Fine entertainment it is,” Morgana agreed. “Murdering helpless people.”

“Yes. Well we were given a choice as my father was a skilled blacksmith and luckily they were in short supply here. We moved to Essetir itself and he set up a new shop. Elyan, my brother, he didn’t like being here. For a while he and our father wouldn’t speak to each other. And then Elyan got himself into trouble and now he’s fighting in the arena. I don’t think he has much longer, he’s almost earned his freedom. But I won’t sleep soundly until I know he’s out of there.”

Morgana smiled kindly at her, feeling even more that Gwen was a kindred spirit. “I can understand that,” she said. “I hope Arthur earns his freedom too. Though I suppose he won’t be allowed to, will he?”

Gwen looked down at her hands, twisting them uncomfortably in her lap. “I don’t know, my lady.”

But she did. Morgana knew that she did.

There was no way that Arthur or herself would ever be allowed their freedom. Not for as long as Cenred was king.

\---

There was very little natural light in any of the areas under the arena. None at all in the cell that Arthur had been placed in.

Arthur supposed that he had been put in one of the poorer cells, due to his lack of favour with the king. The only light there had come from a torch that had sputtered out overnight. Then again, they were all underground, either under the arena or in one of the spurs leading off from it. Perhaps everyone had slept in a windowless prison? Another thing to ask Gwaine. Arthur was gathering together a list in his head.

First and foremost there was Merlin. Arthur wasn’t sure what the rules were now. There had been talk the previous day about women being given to victorious gladiators as prizes. Arthur hadn’t really listened beyond a general feeling of disgust at people being used in that way. He’d supposed that at some point he might be offered some poor girl and have the chance to refuse. He hadn’t dreamed that he’d be given a male instead, or that the guards had so little consideration for the physician that they would have treated Merlin so.

Many things from the previous day haunted Arthur. One of those things was Merlin’s terrified form, curled up and scrabbling at the wall, trying to get away from him. At least Merlin had calmed once he’d realised it was Arthur and that he wasn’t in any danger. But they’d lay awake talking for a long, long time, and Merlin seemed no wiser than Arthur about what would happen to him when morning came.

For the women it was slightly simpler, though no less awful. They were without exception serving girls at the arena and kept to their day jobs then waited at the end of the day for their gladiator. If the gladiator in question so wished he could retain exclusive rights to the girl until he either died or lost a match in the arena (generally those were one and the same thing) or until the gladiator won his freedom. At that point, if he wished, the gladiator could claim the slave girl as part of his prize. And if he didn’t then the girl was on offer to any victor that wanted her and had to wait at the end of each arena day to see if she was chosen.

As far as Arthur could tell, that was the fate of many of those girls whose gladiator died in the arena. Those who gained their freedom had usually settled with a steady girl and took her with them. Others, Valiant presumably included, had left whichever unfortunate girls had been saddled with them to live a life as arena whores. Apparently that was the lowest form of life.

Arthur was furious about the entire situation but most of all that anyone had subjected Merlin to it. Merlin was the best of all the people he’d met in Essetir. He’d helped Uther despite everything Uther had done to sorcerers in his life. He’d tried to help Arthur, several times. And he’d saved Galahad’s life. Gaius too, by the sounds of it though perhaps that was more the dragonlord’s doing. And now Merlin was lying beside Arthur in the small, lumpy bed, still mostly wrapped in the sheet Arthur had given him. He was asleep, though Arthur couldn’t understand how Merlin _could_ sleep after being treated like that.

Outside there were voices and clattering as the arena morning began. Arthur could hear doors banging open, people shouting to one another. Beside him, Merlin began to stir. It was too dark to see anything, but Arthur could feel the other man’s breathing change.

“Morning,” Arthur said softly. He still had his arm around Merlin. Merlin seemed to find it a comfort. That was nothing to what a comfort it was to Arthur. He didn’t want to get up and face whatever misery the new day had for him. He would quite happily have laid there spooned with Merlin, breathing in the other man’s scent, listening to him breathe.

“Morning,” Merlin replied. Was that a little shyly? Arthur wasn’t sure, and couldn’t see. “Least I think it’s morning. It’s so dark in here!”

“Torches don’t last,” Arthur pointed out. Back at Camelot he would have been woken by the morning sun streaming through his window. Sleeping out on overnight patrol with his knights he would have been woken at dawn’s first light. The arena was just a pit of darkness. “You slept a lot better than I did though.”

Merlin snorted, and Arthur could feel the vibration down the length of his body. “I doubt that! You didn’t have a great lug snoring in your ear all night!”

“I don’t snore!” Arthur protested. He had a feeling he’d claimed that the previous night as well.

“Oh, someone else got into our bed and snuffled and snorted all night then?”

Our bed had a nice ring to it, but Arthur knew he had to find a way for Merlin to get out of there and never, ever come back. No matter how much Arthur wanted it. He understood completely the gladiators who took a slave as a prize and hung onto them. There was a massive temptation, and he was a good fighter. If things had been fair Arthur knew he could have won his freedom over time. But Arthur would never be allowed to win his freedom. And because of that he had to let Merlin go.

Still, they had a little time.

“It was probably you!” Arthur teased. “I heard this rumbling noise, thought it was your stomach but now I see it was your snoring.”

“I don’t snore!” Merlin whined, wriggling around as if that added to the protest somehow.

“Oh you do,” Arthur lied. He liked the wriggling. He wondered if Merlin was ticklish. Only one way to find that out…

“Oh gods… stop! Stop!” Merlin shrieked, laughing and rolling around trying to escape Arthur’s probing fingers. That did nothing to make Arthur want to stop and he continued, enjoying Merlin’s helpless laughter.

“You’re the worst… oh gods! Stop it! Ahahaha! Stop!”

Somehow Arthur found himself on top of Merlin, having successfully pinned his giggling quarry down on the bed. He couldn’t see, but he could feel Merlin’s warm breath on his skin and knew their faces were just inches apart. It would be so easy to lean down and kiss him. So easy, but given the situation, so wrong.

“Arthur?” Merlin sounded confused. Small wonder really because he could probably feel how much Arthur was enjoying the proximity through that thin sheet Merlin was still partially shrouded in. Although Arthur was fairly sure he could feel equal interest from Merlin too.

“Any other time and place, Merlin,” Arthur breathed sadly. “Gods, how hard I’d try to woo you.”

“I’m here now,” Merlin whispered back. “I like you, Arthur, really I do.”

A single little kiss wouldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t be like taking advantage of Merlin for being trapped in there with him.

“Stop thinking,” Merlin advised, then leaned up and kissed him.

It wasn’t a single little kiss. It was deep and hungry on both sides, all tongues and teeth and hands everywhere. For a few wonderful minutes Arthur forgot about where he was and all the terrible things that had happened. It was just him and Merlin together and that was all that mattered.

And then the door was thrown open and the room filled with torchlight.

“Sire?” Leon’s voice was usually a welcome sound. Not at that moment though. “They’ve unlocked all the cells. We’re supposed to… oh!”

Arthur groaned against Merlin’s throat, then carefully sat up, trying to hide Merlin from view as much as possible. Merlin was scrabbling around trying to cover himself with the sheet again. Leon stood in the doorway, trying to look anywhere else.

“Time to wake up, Princess!”

That was Gwaine’s voice. Arthur stood up, trying to straighten out his clothing. Behind him Merlin sat on the edge of the bed, fussing with the sheet and looking very guilty indeed. They might as well have spent the whole night shagging each other silly because that was the impression Merlin was now giving.

Gwaine pushed past Leon, grinning from ear to ear. He’d obviously had a great night with that girl of his that he kept talking about.

“Better hurry up if you want breakfast!” Gwaine told him. Then he noticed Arthur’s companion.

“Merlin?” Gwaine’s face changed. Arthur didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone look so angry. “What’s happened here?” He glared at Arthur, then back at Merlin. “What’s he done to you?”

“I’ve done nothing,” Arthur began to explain. “The guards threw him in here.”

“You _asked_ for him?” Gwaine strode across the room and if Merlin hadn’t blocked his way Arthur was sure Gwaine would have flattened him.

“He didn’t! It was Valiant! Gwaine, stop! Listen to me!”

Gwaine looked for a moment as if he were still going to punch Arthur, but Merlin’s words seemed to calm him a little. Leon had also come over, ready to help if needed.

“Merlin, you’re our physician,” Gwaine told him. “You’re not a… gods, why would he do that? Did Valiant hurt you? Why are you in here?”

“I’m okay,” Merlin assured his friend. “Arthur’s one of the good guys, Gwaine, he really is. I stayed too late helping Galahad and I cheeked Valiant. He waited, him and two of the guards. Dagr and Ebor, it was. They stripped me and threw me in here. Arthur’s been nothing but decent to me. He’s not the enemy here, Gwaine.”

Gwaine nodded, then took a step back, hands up to show that he wasn’t on the offensive any more. “You’re sure, Merlin?”

“I’m sure. I just need some clothes and my bag back. Edwin’s going to kill me when he realises I’ve not come in.”

Merlin didn’t refer to it as home, Arthur noticed.

“Where are your clothes?” Leon asked. He was looking around the room. “I can’t see them.”

Merlin hung his head, looking ashamed. “I don’t know if they’ll be wearable. Valiant cut them off me. They might be in the guardroom. That was where they stopped me.”

Gwaine stared at him for a moment, then at Arthur.

“If I ever find out that you had a hand in this…” he warned. Then he turned and headed out. Arthur could hear him calling out to someone to find some spare clothes. There was a lot of shouting going on after that, much of it from Gwaine.

“Gwaine’s a good man,” Merlin explained to Arthur and Leon. “He protects his friends. He’ll see you didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Seemed as if you both were quite happy with the situation when I walked in,” Leon commented. “But I suppose that’s something I should keep to myself,” he added quickly when Arthur glared at him.

People were coming past, just a few. Without exception they all looked into the cell curiously.

“Great, I’m a spectacle,” Merlin muttered.

“I’ll just close the door,” Leon offered. But at that moment Gwaine reappeared with a young woman in tow. Gwaine had Merlin’s bag slung over his shoulder, and the woman had clothes. Leon quickly closed the door behind them.

“Yer clothes are all ripped up,” Gwaine confirmed, coming over and setting the bag down beside Merlin. “Ellie here found you some replacements.”

“I’ll try to mend your clothes,” the woman added.

Arthur stared at her, astonished. They’d all wondered what had happened to Princess Elena when Gawant had fallen. Now he had the answer.

“Elena?”

Elena gazed back at him, horror-struck. Then she shook her head at him desperately, tried to raise her hand – presumably to put her finger to her lips or something – and promptly dropped all the clothes she was carrying. Gwaine laughed and crouched down to help her pick them up.

“That’s my girl! Always dropping everything. You know those clothes won’t be wearable once Ellie’s finished with them? Probably sew the sleeve into the neck or something!”

Ellie. Ellie was the slave girl that Gwaine was shagging. The one who was supposed to be pregnant. Arthur had supposed it was a serving girl from one of the captured kingdoms. Not the woman who was now the rightful queen of Gawant.

“Arthur knows me!” he heard Elena hiss at Gwaine.

“Not just Arthur,” Leon confirmed. “Though I’d never have recognised you if he hadn’t.”

Elena gathered up the clothes and more or less pushed them at Merlin. She looked as if she might cry.

“Please, Arthur, and you Leon,” she begged. “I’m just Ellie now. I’m a serving girl. You don’t know me.”

Merlin took the clothes from her and moved to the other side of the room to change in as much privacy as he could find there. Not that he was the point of interest at that moment. He was doubtless listening in.

“People have been searching for you,” Leon protested to Elena. “We thought you were dead. We hoped you might make it over the border to Camelot. We had people posted on the border, specifically watching for you.”

“A lot of good going to Camelot would have done her!” Gwaine pointed out.

“I’d been out riding,” Elena admitted. “When I returned it was too late. The invasion was that fast.”

“It was the same at Camelot,” Arthur told her. “We stood no chance.”

“I was in my comfortable riding clothes. You know, they’re not very regal. I just said I was a servant. Our people all said the same. Then we were brought here.”

Arthur smiled, remembering the tomboy princess who could always outride him and any of his knights. Regal she wasn’t, but she’d always been a favourite at Camelot, both with himself and with Morgana. Uther perhaps not so much. Not a typical princess.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” he told her. “And Morgana will be too.”

“You can’t tell Morgana,” Gwaine pointed out. “She’s too close to the king.”

“She’s as much a prisoner as any of us!” Arthur retorted.

“She’s being controlled by Morgause!” Gwaine snapped. “We all saw that yesterday. Yes, I know it’ll be against her will, but it’s there. You can’t share secrets like this with her. Cenred gave Gawant to one of his henchmen to run for him. It’s all under the kingdom of Essetir now. A serving girl who some people happened to think was the heir to Gawant would be killed in an instant. Nobody knows she’s here and it’s got to stay that way.” He had his arm around Elena, holding her close. There was no mistaking the strength of the love between them. But Gwaine was just a commoner. If Cenred was overthrown, it wouldn’t look good for Elena to be attached to someone like Gwaine. Also Arthur had realised something from what Gwaine had just said.

“You knew who she was already.”

Elena shrugged. “We don’t have secrets from each other.”

The way that Gwaine and Elena looked at each other after she said that gave Arthur the vague impression that perhaps there were more secrets about the two of them that he didn’t yet know. Arthur regarded them for a moment, then sighed. He had to accept it but he didn’t have to like it.

“What if Cenred is overthrown and we have our kingdoms back?” Arthur attempted.

“Ellie’s my woman,” Gwaine sighed. “Until I’m free of this place, and then she’ll be my wife. That’s it. That’s all there is for us. Anything else is in the past, it’s gone. You can have the kingdoms, Arthur,” he squeezed Elena’s waist, smiling at her fondly. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”

“You won’t say anything, will you?” Elena added. “Please? Any of you?”

“Nothing from me,” Leon confirmed. “And I’ll deny it if anyone from Camelot says you look like her.”

“The same from me,” Arthur agreed. “Though I’m not entirely sure about your taste in boyfriends, Elena!” He side-eyed Gwaine because he wasn’t completely sure that he was joking himself.

Merlin wandered back over at that moment, dressed in a shirt that was a little too large for him. He picked up his medical bag and opened it up to check the contents.

“Talking of people with questionable taste in boyfriends,” Gwaine shot straight back at Arthur. “You okay now Merlin?”

Merlin closed up the bag, apparently satisfied with whatever he found in there. “I’ll live. Assuming I’m allowed to leave here.”

“Dagr and Ebor aren’t on duty right now,” Gwaine reassured him. “Make your escape, and don’t come back. There must be other places Edwin can send you?”

Arthur felt a thrill of disappointment at the thought of Merlin never coming back. The one bright point in his life, a tiny fledgling of romance killed before it even had a chance to grow. But Gwaine was right of course. It wasn’t safe for Merlin down there.

“I don’t think Edwin would care,” Merlin admitted. “But I’ll see. The dragonlord, Balinor, he was talking about buying me from Edwin and training me up. Perhaps if I go to visit Gaius then I can see the dragonlord as well and he’ll remember.”

Arthur knew what Merlin wasn’t saying. They’d spoken about it the previous night, amongst a thousand other things. Merlin didn’t want Edwin knowing the truth about what had happened, because if Edwin knew then so would Gilli. And Gilli would see it as an open invitation to do as he would to Merlin. Arthur could barely contain his own anger and frustration that Merlin would have to go out there and face that. And that there was absolutely nothing that Arthur could do about it. They couldn’t even have a private goodbye because the other three were all standing there. Gwaine probably thought he was protecting Merlin or something.

“We’ll miss you,” Leon told Merlin. “Thank you for what you did for Galahad. He’s looking a lot better this morning.”

“I should check on him,” Merlin immediately decided. “Then I’ll go. I could pretend I made an early call.” He started to go, then stopped and looked back at Arthur. “Are you coming?”

“Better if he doesn’t,” Gwaine pointed out. “Better if people don’t see the two of you together this morning. It’ll help any rumours to die faster.”

Gwaine was right, Arthur realised. He sat back down on his bed, gesturing for them all to leave. “Go then. Elena, why don’t you stay and show me where I can find this breakfast Leon was talking about?”

“Start calling me Ellie and I might consider it,” she replied, but moved over to Arthur anyway, pulling away from Gwaine reluctantly.

Merlin gave Arthur one last, sorrowful look, and headed out with Gwaine and Leon.

Arthur wondered if he’d ever see him again.

\---


	5. Chapter 5

Edwin wasn’t at home when Merlin got back. Neither, thankfully, was Gilli.

Merlin hurried down to the cellar, emptied the contents of his bag onto the workstation there and started to replenish the bag with fresh stock.

Perhaps Edwin hadn’t noticed that Merlin had been missing for the night? It was quite possible, often several days went by before Merlin saw his mentor. But Gilli was another matter. Gilli was always around, seeking Merlin out. The way Gilli had been recently made it unlikely that Merlin’s absence wouldn’t have been noticed.

Merlin didn’t intend waiting around to find out. He changed into his own clothes, leaving behind the borrowed ones and those that had been ripped by Valiant. Ellie was kind enough but he knew that his clothes were more likely to be wearable again if he tried to repair them himself rather than leave them for her. Picking up his refilled bag, he slung it over his shoulder and headed back out. Not to the arena but off to Balinor’s estate. He wanted to see Gaius again, but mostly he hoped that Balinor might be there and open to following through on his offer.

It was a long walk out to the estate, and almost noon by the time Merlin reached it. He hadn’t realised just how far it was when he’d been travelling with Balinor. On foot travelling took far longer. Merlin knew that if Balinor wasn’t there and his attempt to find a new, better owner failed, he would need to turn around and go straight back. Edwin would be furious that he’d spent so long on just one customer.

Balinor’s estate was even grander than Merlin remembered. Even once he was through the gates there was still a long walk up through the grounds to the house itself. The house was impressive, one of the new manor houses that had started to appear amongst the wealthy. As chief dragonlord Balinor commanded a great deal of power and authority across Essetir. Dragonlords were rare thanks to Uther’s attempt to wipe them all out a few decades earlier, and the few that had survived were hugely respected and revered. Merlin wasn’t stupid, he knew that being in favour with Balinor could open all sorts of doors. The door to that manor would do for starters.

Really though, if he had to remain a slave then he’d settle for having a fair owner and perhaps eventually getting his magic restored.

It would mean that he would probably never be able to return to Arthur. But that was unlikely anyway unless he wanted to risk being kept in the arena permanently for the pleasure of first Arthur and then whichever gladiators wanted him after Arthur was inevitably killed.

That wasn’t something Merlin wanted to think of. He liked Arthur… more than liked him. The idea of losing him so soon was unbearable. Yet it would be what Cenred wanted, without question. Without his magic Merlin was completely powerless to stop it.

Out on the hillside beyond the manor Merlin could see the great dragon again. Vast and imposing, he was basking in the sun, watching over the valley. He didn’t appear to have moved much since Merlin’s visit two days earlier. There was no sign of Balinor near him. But then the man was a dragonlord and could probably call the beast to his side whenever he wanted. Merlin envied Balinor having that much power. His own lost powers seemed paltry in comparison.

“Merlin, boy!” As if Merlin’s wishing had summoned him, Balinor emerged from what looked like stables, leading a large blue dragon. It was small compared to the giant on the hillside, but appeared to be saddled and was at least three times taller than Balinor.

“Hello!” Merlin waved and started to head towards the pair, heartened that Balinor remembered his name. It was a good sign.

“Ah, stay back, she’s still a little skittish amongst strangers,” Balinor warned. “I’m training her, Alator couldn’t handle her. She’ll probably eat you given half a chance.”

Merlin did as he was bid and stayed back. The blue was eyeing him unpleasantly. He wasn’t quite sure that Balinor was joking about her eating him.

“I was hoping to see Gaius and Rose. And Aithusa too.” And you, Merlin thought, but Balinor clearly had his hands full with the blue dragon and it wasn’t a good time.

“Aithusa’s asleep, thank the gods. But carry on up to the house to see Gaius and Rose. Tell Rose to give you some of her excellent honey cakes, boy. Wonderful cook she is! Ah!”

The blue dragon snorted flames, though not far enough to reach Merlin. Balinor immediately spoke to her in what had to be dragon tongue, calming her down. Merlin watched for a few minutes, fascinated, until Balinor climbed up on the beast’s back and flew off. Although Balinor appeared to be in complete control, Merlin noticed that he didn’t wave or anything. The dragon was clearly quite unpredictable. Merlin carried on up to the house.

Rose was outside the house drawing water from a well when Merlin approached. She waved to him happily, no doubt well aware by then that Merlin had helped save her from a horrible fate.

“Merlin! Welcome! I hoped you’d come back to see us!”

Merlin trotted over to her, pleased to see at least one previous resident of Camelot had found a good home.

“I came to see how Gaius is getting on,” Merlin told her, helping her with the heavy bucket. “Let me take this for you.”

“Thank you. If you could just take that through to the kitchens, I’ll take you up to see Gaius. He’s doing really well.”

Gaius was indeed doing well. When Rose led Merlin into what appeared to be a rather well-stocked library, Merlin found Gaius sitting in one of the chairs, engrossed in a heavy volume.

“Gaius,” Rose explained cheerfully. “This is Merlin. You probably don’t remember him but he helped get us out of the dungeons. He’s come to visit.”

For someone who had been at death’s door only two days before, Gaius looked remarkably healthy. He closed the book and set it down on the table beside him, regarding Merlin with interest.

“Merlin. It’s good to meet you at last. Come here, my boy, sit down, sit down,” he gestured to the chair nearest him. “Rose, I don’t suppose I could trouble you to fetch us a little of Balinor’s wine?”

Gaius really had made himself at home it seemed. Rose hurried off without the slightest hesitation.

“Balinor has a fine wine cellar here,” Gaius explained as Merlin sat down. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever tasted wine, my boy?”

Merlin shook his head. “No sir.”

“Ah well just a little then. You might find it rather strong. Now, you’re called Merlin?”

“Yes sir.”

“Call me Gaius, please, Merlin. Ah, you know, I was supposed to have an apprentice called Merlin, before all these dreadful wars. Unusual name, strange that you should have it too.”

“I’m Hunith’s son,” Merlin told him. “She wrote to you about me a few years ago.”

Gaius’ face broke into a delighted smile. “Well that’s wonderful! And you’re here and safe! You were to be my apprentice, but I suppose you’ll want to work with your father now you’re here.”

Merlin frowned, puzzled. “I don’t know my father. Wait, do you know him? My mother never spoke of him. He left before I was born.”

“Did your mother not tell you that your father was a dragonlord?” Gaius asked carefully. He was looking at Merlin curiously, as if Merlin was some fine puzzle that had so far eluded him.

“She told me there was a raid on the village before I was born and that was when he left. Ealdor was no place for sorcerers. She thought he’d died. King Uther killed so many magic users.”

“Yes.” Gaius looked down at his hands for a moment, then back up at Merlin. “So you say you never knew him?”

“No.” Merlin gazed at Gaius, shocked by the fact that this man whom he’d never met before knew so much more about Merlin’s past than Merlin did. He had so many questions for Gaius. And Balinor too, because at that moment Merlin realised something else. “Balinor is the greatest of the dragonlords. He must have known my father too!”

“No Merlin,” Gaius said gently. “Balinor _is_ your father.”

\---

Merlin didn’t come back.

Arthur hadn’t really been expecting him to because it just wasn’t safe, but it was disappointing nonetheless. Instead, Arthur found himself trailing along with all his new companions to something that was known as gladiator school.

It was a training area for the gladiators situated just outside the arena. He learned that there were three of them, but only saw the one for Cedric’s group. It was outside, which was a relief. Arthur had just about had as much of being stuck underground as he could take. The thick, stuffy air beneath the arena was warm and disgusting. It seemed that animals were kept down there as well as humans on arena days. The stink from them was pretty bad. It would probably never completely air out given the lack of ventilation. Living down there, Arthur felt like a caged animal himself.

For Arthur, used to being outside every day at Camelot either riding patrol or training with his knights, being kept underground was unbearable. He loved the feel of the sun on his face and the cool forest breeze in his hair. He missed riding through fields, missed the lush green of the forests and the cool waters of the rivers and streams.

Instead, the open air was a small dusty quadrangle in one of the spurs leading off from the arena. There were a few wooden benches situated around the side and a small raised area at the end which turned out to be a viewing platform for Cedric. At the other end was the tunnel that led back down under the arena, to their so-called living quarters.

This was Cedric’s gladiator school. There were thirty or so men training there, which apparently was fewer than normal due to the number who had been killed the previous day. Although the men who had gone out against Uther had been from all three schools, they had mostly been Cedric’s. The man himself was out purchasing replacements. Arthur wondered how often Cedric had to do that to keep up with the numbers that died.

The training itself was unimpressive. Arthur and Leon spent their days back at Camelot training to be the best that they could be. Cedric’s trainer really didn’t have a clue what to do. If he’d been responsible for training prior to Arthur’s arrival it was surprising that Cedric had any men left at all.

“Bet you’re impressed with our trainer,” Gwaine grinned at Arthur. They were sitting together with Leon on one of the benches, waiting their turn to get up and practice. “George likes to do things by the book.”

George had no natural ability at all from what Arthur could see. “Whatever book he’s doing things by needs burning,” Arthur commented. “Leon and I could train you all far better than this.”

“Is that so?” Gwaine regarded him for a moment, then gave that cocky smile he had. “Elyan and I are pretty close to winning our freedom. Any tips you want to give us, you go right ahead. Ah, we’re up. Watch and learn, my friend!”

Gwaine was annoying, but he was also an extremely good swordsman. Arthur watched him practice with Elyan, the pair of them producing a thrilling mock-fight that only the trained eye would have been able to tell was actually faked.

“They’re good,” Leon commented unnecessarily.

“Self-taught, no doubt,” Arthur replied. There was no way that the artistic display that the two gladiators were putting on could have been thought up by George. “I suggest we train with them, and with Galahad once he’s back on his feet.”

Leon nodded, still watching Gwaine and Elyan. “I supposed there’s no chance that Bedivere is still alive,” he mused. “I keep hoping he’ll be brought in to join us. We don’t even know where he’s gone. Just us and Galahad left out of all those men of Camelot. Training well didn’t do them any good.”

“Don’t think about that,” Arthur advised. “We’ve lost too many people. The only thing we can do now is keep going, and stay loyal to our homeland.” He got to his feet. “Come on, let’s show this lot how it’s done.”

Training with Leon came naturally to Arthur. They went through the practice fights that they’d done so many times before. Leon had always been a good match for him. Both taught by Kay when they were younger, they had similar styles and knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses inside out. It made for an impressive show.

“Bravo!” Elyan applauded when Arthur finally defeated Leon. There was a smattering of applause from some of the other gladiators. George merely watched them critically.

“You hold your sword too high,” he told Arthur. “You should adjust your grip.”

Arthur did _not_ hold his sword too high, and he knew it. George absolutely did not have a clue what he was talking about.

“I would say his hands were in the perfect position,” a new voice called. “A good fight, well done!”

Arthur and Leon looked to see who had spoken. It was Cedric, who had arrived with four men. Two looked quite ragged and were obviously slaves. Arthur doubted that they would last long out in the arena. The third man Arthur recognised – it was Percival, his opponent from the previous day. The final newcomer was a shorter, dark-haired, pale man who regarded them all coldly. He wore the iron bracelets that marked him as a bound sorcerer. Arthur couldn’t help being reminded of Merlin at that point. Though the man lacked Merlin’s warm smile and fine cheekbones and… no, altogether he just didn’t measure up.

“Gentlemen,” Cedric called. “Gather round, I’d like you to meet our newest gladiators. Tam and Bec are fresh from the market this morning. You’ll recognise Percival, after our Arthur here defeated him yesterday his price went down and I was able to acquire him. And finally this is Mordred, who has come in the same way as you, Elyan. I’ve paid off his debts, let’s hope he’s as good a swordsman as he claims and that he repays me in the arena!”

There were a few half-hearted welcomes, but Arthur got the feeling that most of the school just weren’t interested. Gwaine went straight over to Percival to make introductions, but Mordred didn’t join in. He just stood there, watching them all. And then his gaze fell on Arthur.

There was something a little off about Mordred. Arthur couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but it was definitely there. Just a premonition, a feeling he had. He wished he could tell Morgana about it. She was the one who always told him to trust his instincts.

Mordred was staring at Arthur, his face quite expressionless. It was unsettling. And they were stuck there together in the same school. Accidents could so easily happen.

Arthur hoped his instincts were wrong.

\---

Merlin returned to Edwin’s house in the early evening.

Balinor had shown no sign of returning with the blue dragon and really Merlin was quite nervous about meeting him again. Gaius assured him that Balinor would be pleased and that Merlin should wait – the dragonlord already knew and liked Merlin so there was really no reason for any other reaction. Merlin wasn’t so sure. Balinor was a powerful man and might be ashamed to have a son who was merely a slave.

At least Merlin didn’t have to walk back. Gaius ensured that one of the estate hands drove him in and dropped him off. Merlin again wondered that Gaius had so much authority after only being there for a day or two but it certainly seemed to be the case. Balinor had claimed that Gaius saved his life and now the dragonlord seemed intent on returning the favour.

There was the temptation to stay at Balinor’s estate and just wait for him. Gaius had been keen for him to do so. But if Balinor’s reaction wasn’t what Merlin hoped, and it meant he had to stay with Edwin then Merlin needed to get back. Edwin would be furious if he had to come looking for Merlin and was likely to punish him. Merlin had a few scars from the last time Edwin had lost his temper and taken the strap to him. He didn’t want that again.

There was another reason for going back. When Merlin had been taken from Ealdor there were only a few items that he had been allowed to take with him. Most of those had been items of clothing that were long since either worn out or lost or outgrown. But there had been a couple of small items that he’d managed to hold onto. One was a tiny pendant that his mother had given him. It had broken the first time that Edwin had grasped him roughly by the neck due to some perceived incompetence. Merlin had sensibly recognised that repairing it with stronger cord might not be wise as the next time Edwin did that Merlin could end up strangled by it. Instead he kept it hidden under his bed, along with his other keepsake which was a bundle of notes on his mother’s remedies, written in her dear and familiar hand. Since Edwin had stopped him making anything but his own remedies it had become doubly important to hold onto the notes so as not to forget.

It wasn’t much, but it was all Merlin had. And he suspected that if Balinor did indeed take him in then Edwin would dispose of every trace of Merlin simply out of spite. That was what he was like. Particularly if Balinor accepted Merlin as his son. Merlin wasn’t entirely sure that Edwin would even get any compensation for the loss of his slave if that were the case. Not that it wouldn’t serve him right. He was a horrible master. And Gilli wasn’t any better.

Balinor’s worker dropped Merlin off outside Edwin’s house and then drove on. There were supplies to pick up from one of the tradesmen and that would take an hour or two. He was to call on the way back to collect Merlin if Merlin wanted to return. That was another of Gaius’s suggestions, and one that Merlin had accepted just in case he needed an escape. There was no telling with Edwin. Really though, Merlin didn’t want to go back to Balinor’s estate until he knew how the dragonlord felt about suddenly having a grown up son.

Merlin himself had mixed feelings. Balinor had never come back for his mother. She lived in poverty while Balinor lived on a vast estate as one of the most important and wealthy people in the whole of Essetir. It was true that he’d been driven out by Uther Pendragon’s relentless purge of the dragonlords and would have been in hiding for many years. But he could have come for her afterwards, when Cenred had started to gain power and had provided a safe haven. If he had done that then Merlin would never have been in Ealdor when Morgause came searching for recruits for her army. He would never have had to wear the iron cuffs that rubbed and chafed at his skin. He wouldn’t have had to spend three years with his magic repressed and subdued. He would probably never even have met Edwin and Gilli. And that would not be a bad thing.

Merlin went around to the back of the house and let himself in that way. It was the least likely place for Edwin to be lurking, although he wasn’t so sure about Gilli. He’d been lucky that morning, but he knew that luck couldn’t hold much longer.

The back door was notoriously squeaky on its hinges. Merlin opened it as slowly and quietly as he could, wincing at every creak, and slipped inside. The back of the house was fairly gloomy in the evening as it didn’t face the sun and was overshadowed by other houses. It was relatively easy to move around unnoticed and creep across to the steps down to the cellar from there. Merlin got to the top of the steps, and then froze. Edwin was standing in the hallway, waiting for him, Gilli lurking just behind. They must have heard him coming in through the back door.

“And where have you been?”

Merlin swallowed nervously. “I went to Lord Balinor’s estate to check on Gaius. I treated him a few days ago. You were paid,” he added, appealing to Edwin’s main interest. “And I’ve been paid again today, look.” Merlin handed over a small bag of coins. “It’s more than they pay me in the arena. I thought you’d be pleased.”

Edwin did not look pleased. He snatched the bag away from Merlin, glanced inside then pocketed it. “Don’t you dare ever go there again. I should be the one treating anyone at the dragonlord’s estate. Anyone! Even if it’s some traitorous turncoat who’s played both sides for years and should have been killed in the arena with the rest of the Camelot scum.”

“Lord Balinor asked for me.” It wasn’t true, but he was confident that Gaius would back him up if asked. “I’m supposed to go back later, I was just restocking. They’re expecting me,” he added, as if that was going to make a difference.

“I will be attending Lord Balinor,” Edwin told him. “You, on the other hand, won’t be returning to the arena in the morning either. I understand you’ve made quite a spectacle of yourself there.”

Edwin knew. Which meant that Gilli also knew. Merlin glanced at Edwin’s apprentice, who was eyeing Merlin speculatively. Seeing Merlin look, Gilli smiled smugly.

It could be nearly two hours before Balinor’s man returned to the house. It was too long, Merlin knew.

“I didn’t do anything,” Merlin protested. “It was the guards and Valiant.”

“I heard it was the Pendragon prince,” Gilli put in. “I heard it was all night too. There’s a name for your sort, Merlin.”

There was a name for Gilli’s sort too but Merlin couldn’t use it. Edwin would beat him for sure.

“They would have killed me, there were three of them,” Merlin argued. “And Arthur didn’t touch me. Nothing happened.”

“Arthur, is it?” Edwin growled. “Very friendly. Well your _Arthur_’s father had both my parents murdered for being sorcerers. I can’t say I’m happy having anyone under my roof who’s consorting with his sort.”

“Merlin just comes and goes as he pleases,” Gilli put in.

“True. I think I’m too lax with you, boy,” Edwin told him. He took a step forward and Merlin noticed that he was holding a leather strap. He’d used it on Merlin before. It was thick and hard and hurt like hell. “Some discipline is needed, I think. Shirt off. Get down those stairs.”

Merlin hesitated, wondering what his chances of escape would be if he tried to run. Gilli was blocking his route to the front door, and if he went for the back door then they’d catch him when he tried to get round the side of the house.

“Please don’t do this,” he attempted. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve been earning money for you!”

“By whoring yourself out?” Gilli snapped. Merlin wondered if Gilli was angry because he thought Arthur had got there before he did? There was no point in arguing. Someone like Gilli would never understand.

“Go downstairs,” Edwin repeated. “I won’t tell you again.”

There was no other option. Balinor’s man would never return in time and even if he did there was no guarantee that Balinor himself would even be interested in suddenly becoming a father. He might send Merlin straight back to Edwin, denying Gaius’ claims. Slowly, reluctantly Merlin made his way down the stairs.

There was no escape from the basement other than back up those stairs. Merlin knew the place like the back of his hand, he’d lived down there for the past three years. It was gloomy and smelled damp and earthy. And on the occasions when Edwin decided Merlin was disobedient, it was the cellar where he would carry out any punishment. Perhaps it was because Merlin wouldn’t be heard from the street down there. Or perhaps Edwin just didn’t want any blood staining his living quarters.

At the foot of the stairs Merlin hurried across to the other side of the room, dumping his bag on the workstation and putting as much space between himself and the other two as possible.

“Shirt off, bend over the desk,” Edwin instructed. He was flexing the strap in his hands, moving towards Merlin.

With trembling fingers, Merlin unbuttoned his shirt. He fumbled with some of the buttons, afraid of what was coming. It wasn’t just the beating – he really didn’t like the predatory way that Gilli was watching him. Labelled a whore, regardless of the truth, nobody was going to care what happened to him. Gilli had been waiting for an opportunity, and Merlin knew that opportunity had probably just arrived. Merlin’s status in the household had been low to start with, but was about to plummet even further. If there had ever been a chance that Edwin would prevent Gilli sexually abusing Merlin, that chance had now gone. Bare-chested, and feeling more vulnerable than ever, Merlin stood beside the work desk and gazed fearfully at Edwin.

Edwin narrowed his eyes, then tapped the desk. “Bend.”

Merlin hesitated, then found himself moving against his will. Edwin was using magic to force Merlin to face the desk, then to bend over it. The cold hard oak pressed against his chest. The magic felt like a dead weight on his shoulders, holding him in place.

“You should learn to do this,” he heard Edwin tell Gilli. “A useful spell. Concentrate on his upper back, though not too hard or you could break bones or damage organs. I do want him in one piece in the morning as he’ll be on sale for his new talents in the slave market.”

The slave market. Where he’d be sold as a whore, not as a physician. Anyone at all might buy him, and only the gods knew what would become of him after that. Nobody ever saw male whores. Not that there weren’t plenty of them. But they were invisible, locked away somewhere only for their masters pleasure.

Merlin tried not to panic. Balinor’s man would come back and fetch him. Gaius would persuade Balinor to take him in. It would be okay. He just had to get through the beating. And that couldn’t be too damaging, not if Edwin was going to sell him in the morning. It was going to be okay. He had to keep telling himself that.

“I’ll try,” Gilli agreed eagerly.

Merlin gasped as his head was slammed down against the desk by a second magic force.

“No. Too much. Imagine a stone block across his back, pressing down on his shoulder blades.”

Merlin felt the pressure on his head lift, but almost immediately the pressure on his back increased instead to such an extent that Merlin could barely breathe.

“A little less,” Edwin instructed Gilli, as casually as if they were measuring out medicines or something.

Merlin panted and gasped as the weight eased slightly and he could breathe again. He still couldn’t move though.

“Very good,” Edwin told Gilli. “You’re a fine student. When I’m finished here, you should practice on him. Do whatever you like, just make sure he’s still saleable in the morning.”

Merlin felt a hand on his lower back. It stayed there for a moment, then moved down lower, fingers reaching under the material of Merlin’s breeches.

“Whatever I like?” Gilli questioned. “Anything?”

Merlin heard Edwin laugh at that. “Anything! Who knows, Merlin, we might have found something you’re actually good for!”

“I’m _not _a whore!” Merlin insisted yet again. “Arthur never touched me.”

“Silence!” Edwin insisted.

Merlin suddenly found he couldn’t speak, or make any vocal protests at all. At least the probing hand moved away. He wanted to be sick.

“You’ve disgraced this house,” Edwin told him. “I took you on in good faith, trained you up to be a physician, and this is how you repay me. It doesn’t matter whether your gladiator took you or not, you spent the night as a whore and that’s all you are now.”

Merlin didn’t even have time to brace himself. The strap came down, stinging against his back. It didn’t hurt as much as he remembered, though. For a moment he wondered if Edwin was being lenient with him, not wanting to damage him too much before the market? Then the strap came down again and that really hurt.

Edwin enjoyed beating him, there was no question, and he was getting into his stride with it. The strap came down a third time, a fourth. Edwin and Gilli were laughing at something, then a moment later Merlin’s breeches slid down and he was butt-naked. The shock of that was momentary, then the fifth stroke of the strap slapped across his buttocks.

Merlin tried to cry out, tears of pain and fear running down his face. But he couldn’t make a sound. Whatever Edwin was doing kept Merlin silent. And they were touching him again, examining his entrance.

“He looks untouched,” Edwin mused. “Still sweet and new.”

In his head Merlin was begging them, pleading with them to leave him alone. He knew how it was going to go. Edwin wouldn’t be interested in soiled goods, but virgin territory was a different matter.

“We could both have him?” Gilli suggested slyly. “As his owner, his _master_, you should be first. He’d like that, I’m sure. Wouldn’t you, Merlin?”

Merlin’s head banged painfully against the desk a couple of times. Gilli was improving. That wasn’t a good thing.

“Ah, he wants you to,” Gilli crowed, and Merlin heard Edwin laugh again.

“You’re right of course. All sweet and fresh. But still labelled a whore.”

What Merlin supposed was Edwin’s hand slid down between Merlin’s buttocks, fingering his hole. Merlin tried to move away, but with his top half frozen in place it was difficult to do more than squirm awkwardly.

“He likes that,” Gilli noted. Merlin tried to kick backwards in the vague direction of Gilli’s voice, but just earned a slap for that.

“You hold him down for me,” Edwin told Gilli. “And ignore whoever that is, they’ll go soon enough.” Upstairs someone was knocking on the front door. But that wasn’t unusual given that Edwin was one of the most highly-regarded physicians in Essetir. It could be anyone. And if it was Balinor’s man come back early then he’d probably soon give up and go away.

Abruptly Merlin found he could speak again, though he was still unable to move more than that. If there was the slightest chance it was Balinor’s man, Merlin had to at least try to be heard.

“Help!” he screamed as loudly as he could. “Help me! In the cellar! Help…”

Edwin’s magic immediately clamped down once again and Merlin was unable to utter another word. Terrified, his only hope whoever it was at the door, Merlin tried to kick out at his assailants again. He managed to hit one of them, but it wasn’t hard enough to hurt and didn’t really achieve anything except the strap came down on the back of his legs several times, leaving them stinging painfully.

“Nobody is going to help you,” Edwin snarled. “The sooner you realise that the better. Try anything like that again and it’ll be a whip I’m using on you. You’ve always been trouble, Merlin.”

“I could fetch the whip,” Gilli suggested. He was breathing heavily, and Merlin realised that the idea of it was actually making Gilli aroused. “He deserves it.”

“No permanent marks,” Edwin reminded him. “I’m not decided yet whether we keep him or sell him. No, turn him over.”

Merlin felt the pressure on his back change, but nothing more than that. Then suddenly Merlin found himself flipped over, facing them both, still unable to escape. He was also horribly exposed and unable to protect his most vulnerable parts. His sore back and buttocks were painfully pressed against the hard desk and he really wanted to move.

“You need to practice,” Edwin told Gilli, who had evidently failed to use his magic to turn Merlin over. “Did you watch how I did that?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Now, Merlin,” Edwin smiled down at him. Merlin wanted to spit in his face but given his current position decided that would be unwise. “What I’m about to do is just the start. If you disobey me again then the punishment is doubled. Every time, it’s doubled. Do you understand?”

Merlin couldn’t nod or talk, just stared back at Edwin in horror, a traitorous tear running down the side of his face to let his assailants know just how frightened he was of what they were about to do.

And then the strap came down, hard across his genitals. Twice.

Merlin wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced so much pain. The room seemed to fade out for a few moments in a white haze of agony. He wanted to curl in on himself but the magic was still holding him down. Tears were streaming from his eyes. At that point he would have done absolutely anything not to experience that excruciating pain ever again.

And then suddenly he could move again, speak once more. He slid off the desk, howling in pain, and collapsed onto the floor. All he was aware of for a few brief moments was the intense throbbing pain, but as the immediate sting subsided slightly he realised they were no longer alone.

“Get your filthy hands off my son!”

Lord Balinor was there in the cellar with them, and he was raging. Gilli was cowering in a corner gibbering like a fool, whilst Edwin must have been thrown against the wall. He was sitting at a strange angle. It looked as if his neck might have been broken. He didn’t appear to be breathing.

Merlin hoped he wasn’t.

“Move and I’ll kill you too!” Balinor snarled at Gilli, who whimpered like a child. Then Balinor was crouching beside Merlin, all kindness and concern. “Merlin, my boy, hold still, let me heal you. It’s going to be all right.”

Merlin sniffed hard, trying to stop his uncontrollable sobbing and shaking, but he couldn’t. Balinor’s eyes glowed a rich, deep gold, and Merlin felt himself being enveloped in a warm, soothing cocoon of magic. The terrible stinging pain subsided. Merlin found that he was still trembling all over.

“Let’s find you some clothes,” Balinor told him kindly, helping Merlin to stand up. “Are these yours?” He handed Merlin the shirt and breeches that had been taken from him. Merlin struggled to get them back on, his hands shaking too much to manage the buttons and laces. In the end he managed to lace up the breeches but left the shirt loose and open.

“I’m going to take you home now,” Balinor explained, still in the same kind, soothing voice. “You won’t return here. Is there anything you want to take with you?”

Merlin nodded, not trusting himself to speak in case he burst into tears again. He wiped at his face with the sleeve of his shirt and walked unsteadily over to his sleeping area. Balinor followed him, letting him walk but Merlin had a feeling his father was going to be right there if he fell. It was a very new, very welcome feeling.

“Let me carry anything you need to take,” Balinor offered. “Plenty of room where we’re going.”

Merlin reached under his bed and pulled out the pendant and his mother’s notes. Balinor held out a hand to take them, but Merlin pressed them against his chest.

“They’re all I have from home.”

He saw Balinor glance down at the dirty, uncomfortable sleeping area and saw the distaste that flitted across his father’s face.

“You keep hold of them then, boy. Is that all? Nothing else to take?”

Merlin looked around at the damp cellar where he’d spent the past three years of his life. “I don’t want anything from here.”

“Neither do I. You,” Balinor pointed at Gilli. “You know who I am?”

Gilli nodded mutely, still cowering in the corner.

“Merlin is my son. My only child. Do you know who that means he is?”

Gilli swallowed nervously, then nodded again, eyes wide. “We didn’t know, my lord.”

To be fair, Balinor and Merlin hadn’t known either, Merlin thought, but that wasn’t stopping his newly-discovered father giving vent to righteous fury.

“What you were doing was an abuse of power. This is my son but it doesn’t matter who it was. Tomorrow the king will hear about this. You can stay here and wait to see what he says about a vicious assault on the dragonlord in waiting, or you can run. Your choice. But never let me see you again. I won’t be so lenient next time. And I don’t need to tell you what my son might do to you once his magic is restored to him. Or later, when he comes into his dragonlord powers and has every dragon in the entire world as his to command! I would run and keep running, and never speak of this again. And I would get out of this house, right now. Because you won’t want to be in it when I order one of my dragons to burn it to the ground.”

Gilli actually looked as if he was going to pass out from terror. Merlin felt precisely no sympathy for him at all. The shock of what had happened was starting to fade a little, mostly due to the pain having gone and the enormity of what Balinor was saying about him. A dragonlord! And he was going to get his magic back. Merlin wasn’t sure how Balinor would achieve that because there was absolutely no way that Merlin would swear loyalty to Cenred. Merlin knew exactly which king he wanted to be loyal to and it wasn’t someone who sold people as slaves and bound their magic.

“I said go!” Balinor roared, when Gilli didn’t move. “Take what you need and get out! Move!”

Gilli almost fell over his own feet in his rush to get up and run for the stairs. He tripped over halfway up, then scrambled to his feet again and was gone. Merlin doubted he’d even paused upstairs to take anything with him.

Balinor turned away from Gilli, his full attention now on Merlin.

“We’re leaving now. Do you have a cloak with a hood?”

Merlin didn’t have anything remotely as fine as that. “Edwin has several.”

“Good. He won’t need it. Wear it, I need you to cover your head and face. We can’t and won’t hide the fact that you’ve worked as Edwin’s slave, but I don’t want people to see that you’ve been crying and wonder about what’s happened here. Not that you’ve done anything wrong, I just want your passage into society to be as smooth as possible. No whispers about your reputation. You’re known as a physician, a good one. You’ve got a great future, my boy. All this is behind you now.”

Balinor didn’t know what Valiant had done, that was clear. But there was no reason for him to know, outside of the arena it was of no interest. Yet Merlin could see how it would go against him if there were rumours that he’d worked as an arena whore. Balinor had to know about it. Merlin’s gut instinct told him that Balinor would believe him, and that if there was any way to make it right then Balinor would do so.

“Last night, after the games, some of the guards attacked me,” Merlin told him. “I was helping an injured gladiator and stayed there too late. They put me in overnight with one of the gladiators. That’s why Edwin and Gilli did this. Edwin was going to sell me.”

Balinor gazed sadly at him for a moment, then pulled Merlin into a warm hug. “Oh my boy, I am so sorry,” he said over the top of Merlin’s head. “If I’d only known. I should have realised when Aithusa was so smitten with you. Clearly you had dragonlord blood. I’ll want the names of these guards, and that gladiator too.”

“Oh no,” Merlin cried, “not Arthur!” He pulled away from his father, stricken at the thought that Balinor might take revenge where it wasn’t due. “He didn’t touch me, I swear.”

“Not Arthur Pendragon?” Balinor checked. “Uther’s son? That murderer!”

“Arthur’s not like his father,” Merlin assured him. He hadn’t found Uther unpleasant either but that king’s reputation said otherwise and Merlin could understand any hatred Balinor might have for him. But that was Uther, not Arthur. “Please, he was kind to me. He’s my friend. He’s…” Merlin tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t give away just how much Arthur meant to him. That might be a bit much for Balinor at such an early stage in their relationship. “He’s my friend,” Merlin repeated, knowing it sounded lame but unable to come up with anything else.

“The Pendragons are no friends of dragonlords,” Balinor told him, placing a reassuring hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “But if you say Arthur’s a decent man then I’ll leave your friend be. I want the names of those guards though. I saw you with Gaius, you were trying to help. You’re a good lad, Merlin. I know you’re going to make me so proud of you. And nobody is ever going to treat you like that again, I swear it. I know we’ve missed a lot of time, and I can’t ever make that up to you. But you’re safe now. All this is behind you.”

Merlin didn’t want to leave Arthur behind. Or Gwaine, Elyan, Lancelot… any of his friends really. But that would be something to discuss later. For now, he just wanted to get out of there.

“Let’s go,” Merlin said. He was still clutching his mother’s notes and the broken pendant. When he’d left Ealdor there had been a small sackful of belongings but that was all long gone. He wondered whether his mother was still there, whether she was still alive. Perhaps he would be able to write to her from his new home?

Perhaps he would be able to visit her? He glanced back at his father, who smiled reassuringly at him. Merlin had no idea how his parents had parted, or how either of them might feel about seeing the other again. But the fact Balinor was clearly delighted that Merlin existed was a hopeful start. Something else that was a conversation for another day, although the sooner the better as far as Merlin was concerned.

Ahead of them there was the sound of someone scrambling around and as Merlin reached the top of the stairs he saw Gilli race out of the front door, a bulging sack slung over his shoulder. He’d probably helped himself to anything that he could find of value. Merlin really didn’t care about Gilli. He knew that he’d never see the young man again, and good riddance.

More surprising was the front door. It wasn’t there.

It explained why they hadn’t heard Balinor coming in. The front door was gone, just a pile of ash on the floor to show that it was ever there.

“That was Faerova,” Balinor explained. “Dragons have exceptional hearing. She heard you cry for help. My deaf old ears wouldn’t manage to hear something that faint,” he smiled.

There was a dragon in the street outside. A beautiful green dragon, about the size of the blue that Merlin had seen Balinor with earlier that day. Small enough to land in the street, although she was taking up the entire road. She had quite an audience, although everyone was keeping a very respectful distance away.

“The cloak,” Balinor reminded him.

Edwin had left a blue cloak on a hook near the door. Merlin took it and put it on. He put the notes down on a table for a moment while he did so. Balinor looked down at them with interest.

“That’s Hunith’s writing,” he noted. There was a soft, fond smile on his face as he spoke Merlin’s mother’s name. “And this” – he picked up the pendant – “is something I gave her.”

“Besides me?” Merlin asked cheekily. He was starting to have high hopes for a bright future with a full family. He hadn’t realised that the pendant had been a gift from his father to his mother. It was just a smooth piece of wood with a horse’s head still faintly visible on it. Well, he’d supposed it was a horse until that moment.

“Yes, besides you. This is worn right down. It was supposed to be the great dragon, Kilgharrah. Never know it now.”

“I thought it was a horse,” Merlin admitted.

Balinor laughed at that. “Yes, I’m not a great craftsman! It’s a dragon, Merlin. Now, I’ll take these if you’ll trust me with them? We’re going to be flying home on dragonback, you’ll need to hang on tight and I’m guessing you’d rather not lose these? Do you trust me with them?”

Merlin smiled and nodded eagerly. “Yes!” The thought of riding on a dragon was terrifying and exciting at the same time. Exciting mostly. He flipped the hood of the cloak over his head. Balinor pocketed the notes and pendant, then reached out and pulled the hood down a little further over Merlin’s face. He stepped back to inspect his son.

“You’ll do, boy. Come on.”

Balinor headed out of the gap where the front door had been. Immediately the green dragon looked up from where she had apparently been snoozing in the middle of the street. Balinor spoke to her in a deep, rumbling voice that sounded little like his regular speech.

_“Drakon, afto enai o gios mou, o Merlin. Forte kai tous dyo sto spatik!”_

Merlin had no clue what Balinor was saying, but Faerova seemed to understand. She shook out her wings, stood up, then inclined her head towards Merlin. He could hear gasps and exclamations from the people watching.

“She’s greeting you,” Balinor explained quietly. “Slowly raise your hand, Faerova is very gentle. She’ll let you stroke her on the nose. But make no sudden movements. Dragonlord in waiting or not, the dragons will all turn you into toast if you cross them!”

That wasn’t very reassuring. Cautiously Merlin raised his hand and held it there. A few moments later Faerova nudged her nose against it. He gently stroked her nose, marvelling as she allowed him to do so, closing her eyes much like little Aithusa had done. Her skin wasn’t warm but certainly not cold as he had expected.

“She’s beautiful,” Merlin breathed.

Faerova said something to Balinor that Merlin couldn’t catch. It sounded as if she was laughing.

“What did she say?” he asked, but Balinor just laughed too.

“Come on, time to go,” Balinor told him. “You sit in front of me. Don’t be afraid. I’ll get on first, just follow. And tread carefully, they don’t like it if you kick them.”

Merlin gave Faerova one last stroke, then followed his father up onto the dragon’s back. Faerova lowered herself to give them easier access but still it was awkward. There was no saddle or anything like that. Merlin wondered what he was supposed to cling onto.

“Sorry son,” Balinor said when Merlin asked. “I just flew over here as fast as I could. Didn’t bother with a saddle or anything. To be honest, you’ll find it’s easier without once you and the dragon get used to it. Braetha, the blue you saw me breaking in earlier, she needs a saddle. Her dragonlord likes them, and reins too. Thinks it gives him more control. Braetha isn’t so keen. But Faerova is the gentlest of the herd. Just lean forward and put your hands either side of her neck. She’s a good girl, she won’t let you fall. And neither will I.”

Balinor himself didn’t seem to be holding onto anything at all. He was sitting up behind Merlin, one arm holding his son round the waist. But he was a powerful sorcerer, Merlin had already seen that. He would probably hold them both in place with his magic.

Merlin leaned forward onto the dragon’s neck, seeing the hated iron cuffs around his wrists as he stretched out his arms to hold himself steady. They would be gone soon enough, he was sure of it.

“Hold on,” Balinor warned, and suddenly Faerova sprang up, spreading her wings and gliding over the tops of the houses. Merlin couldn’t help letting out a cry of surprise, and again a rumble of what really did sound like laughter rippled through the dragon’s body.

“Is she laughing at me?” Merlin gasped. It was hard to breathe with the cool night air rushing past his face, almost taking his breath away.

“Yes,” Balinor told him, and Merlin was sure he heard a chuckle from behind him as well. “She knows you’ll be the master one day. And that she’ll always be your first… and she’ll never let you forget this flight and how worried you were!”

Wonderful. Merlin glared at the dragon’s neck, though he didn’t dare sit up any straighter. Below them the ground was rushing past, everything looking so small that it might have been a little sculpture.

“Don’t worry, boy,” Balinor added. “My first flight was on Kilgharrah. That old devil’s the worst. Thinks he’s funny.”

“The great dragon,” Merlin breathed. He was starting to feel more confident and enjoy the flight, just a little. Carefully he pushed himself up so that he was only leaning slightly forwards and his hands were more resting on Faerova’s neck than clinging on desperately. “Must be amazing.”

Balinor snorted. “Don’t let him ever hear you say that! Now, are you getting used to this?”

“Yes, a bit.”

“Do you know why we’re feared and respected, Merlin? Why nobody crosses us?”

“Because of the dragons,” Merlin replied. That was easy. Faerova made a slow turn at that point, heading back towards the town again. As far as Merlin could tell, Balinor hadn’t done anything more than tap her hide with his hand.

“Exactly. Now I’d rather live my life peacefully on the estate, with you and Gaius and all our dragons. But in this kingdom that’s not possible. I have to ensure that people are afraid to cross me. And that goes for you too. So now I have to demonstrate our anger that Edwin kept you here as a slave. It needs to be spectacular. With the arena so popular in Essetir, everything has to be spectacular if you want people to take notice of it.”

Faerova seemed to be heading back to Edwin’s house. Merlin remembered what Balinor had said to Gilli.

“You’re going to burn the house,” he realised.

“Yes. And then we’ll go home, and I’ll send one of my people to register a complaint with the king. Cenred doesn’t care about his people but he does care about having a herd of dragons and the power that represents on his side. He’ll want you on his side too.”

“What if I don’t want to be on his side?”

“Just pretend that you are. I don’t give a flying fig for Cenred, and his rule disgusts me. But there’s no alternative. And until a better one comes along, this is where we live. I don’t like it either.”

Merlin didn’t say anything. It wasn’t a surprise to hear that from Balinor, but it was a disappointment. He’d hoped that the dragonlord might have had access to some secret rebellion and that he would have told Merlin all about it. But no. And they were almost at Edwin’s house.

“Hold on tight,” Balinor warned. Then he roared in dragon tongue again; _“O drakon, fthengomai au se kalon su katerkheo deuro!”_

[](https://imgur.com/QlUDDcP)

Faerova circled the house once, then hovered above it and took a massively deep breath. Merlin could feel her lungs filling up beneath him. Then she breathed out, a mass of fiery breath that completely engulfed Edwin’s house. There were shrieks and cries from the people below, most of whom fled. Some remained, and when Faerova didn’t attack again they started to attempt to douse the flames, no doubt fearful that the fire would spread to their own homes.

Slowly Faerova turned and started to carry them back to Balinor’s estate. Merlin wasn’t quite comfortable with what he’d just witnessed. Certainly he’d rather live with Balinor than Edwin. But Balinor seemed to be using the dragons to inspire fear just to protect himself, and he wasn’t using the great power that he had to change things for the better. It wasn’t that Merlin blamed him for doing that, but he didn’t like it.

One day though, Merlin would be a dragonlord. And then things would be different.

He clung onto Faerova, and let himself be carried towards his new life.

\---


	6. Chapter 6

Individual cells, Arthur discovered on his second night as a gladiator, were only for winners, and only the night following their victory. Most of the time he and his fellow fighters slept in large dormitories, large groups of them together. It was fairly grim. There was snoring and farting and the air was thicker and heavier than ever.

At least Leon, Galahad and Arthur had all been adopted by Gwaine and friends and slept in the same dorm with them. Not that Gwaine wasn’t as disgusting as possible when it came to burping and farting, and the man never stopped talking, but they were all friends together and that made it bearable.

Percival had joined them as well. Apparently he knew Lancelot from their previous lives. And given that Arthur had chosen not to kill him in the arena, Percival was predisposed to like him too. Mordred, thankfully, had been allocated one of the other dormitories. He’d continued to unnerve Arthur for most of the day and it was a relief not to have to see the man staring at him any more.

“Obviously this is the elite dorm,” Gwaine announced as soon as they were shut in. “You four should think yourself lucky. I take ale, mead… any sort of brew really as a bribe to keep you in here.”

“Why are there spare beds in here if it’s so good?” Galahad asked stupidly, sitting on the edge of the bed he’d been allocated. Leon shot him a look, but it was too late.

“They would have previously been occupied by some of those volunteers who helped to kill my father, am I right?” Arthur asked. He looked at Gwaine, who at least had the decency to look uncomfortable.

“Some of them. That one you’re on was vacant anyway, Arthur. Best not to think about it. We all sleep in dead men’s beds. And one day someone else will sleep in ours.” He brightened up, thinking about it. “Though mine will be sought after. The lucky bed. Formerly owned by noble Sir Gwaine, famed for his legendary swordsmanship. Won his freedom, married the beauteous Ellie then retired to a farm to raise chickens and a whole legion of children!”

“Poor Ellie,” Elyan muttered, and everyone laughed. They carried on in the same vein, and Arthur began to tune out.

Arthur liked these people. Gwaine, Elyan, Lancelot and Percival. They were all fair-minded, brave and excellent fighters. In another time he would have gladly taken them all on as his knights. For now those days seemed to have gone. But Arthur wasn’t going to give up. He sat quietly, watching them all. It had been Merlin’s doing, putting in a good word for Leon and himself. And Kay, though that brave knight was no more. Galahad had joined them by association so that all the remaining Camelot knights were together. There was still no sign of Bedivere, and Arthur knew that he had to suppose that the knight was dead. So, just the three of them left from all of Camelot’s knights. It was a bitter blow. It felt as if he had nobody left.

Merlin, of course, still hadn’t returned.

Arthur knew that he probably never would and that it wasn’t safe, but that didn’t stop him from wishing he could spend the night holding him again. It had been chaste, at least until they’d woken up, but having Merlin there with him had made what would have been an unbearably unhappy night just a little bit bearable. And he worried for Merlin’s safety as well. Labelled as an arena whore, any kind of trouble could have befallen him. Arthur would have given anything to be out there protecting him. Holding him. Kissing him. Making love to him…

Something soft hit Arthur in the face. He looked down and found a particularly disgusting sock in his lap.

“Hey!” Gwaine was waving at him from across the room. “Wake up Princess! We’re playing. Are you in?”

The others had gathered around while Arthur had been musing. They were sitting on Gwaine’s or Elyan’s bed in a rough circle. Arthur flung the sock back at Gwaine, then wiped his hands on his breeches. Not that they were much cleaner than the sock. It had been some time since he’d had a bath. But at least they all smelled as bad as each other down there. It had to be horrible for Merlin, coming down to treat his patients when they all stank to high heaven. One mercy for him if he didn’t return.

Arthur got up and walked across to sit in the last space on Gwaine’s bed. Elyan handed him some very misshapen wooden counters.

“Consider them gold pieces,” Lancelot advised.

“They’re the closest we’ll get,” Gwaine agreed. He held up a cup with three dice. “Now gentlemen, place your bets…”

“Just be warned, Gwaine always wins,” Lancelot sighed. “I don’t know how.”

Arthur had a fair idea. But they were only wooden counters, and it would keep them all entertained for a little while.

“You can go first,” Gwaine offered, handing Arthur the cup.

“Well he _is_ the king!” Galahad pointed out. Leon nudged him but the young knight had never been overly tactful. “He’s my king anyway.” Galahad looked to Arthur, so young and earnest. “Not that Cenred. He’s just a usurper. You’ll find a way out of here, Arthur. And you’ll get your throne back.”

“Yeah, and we’ll all be right beside him if he does,” Gwaine, of all people, told them. It surprised Arthur.

“What about the farm and the chickens?”

Gwaine shrugged. “Ellie wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t. She hates Cenred. Killed her father.”

That was true. Elena would hate Cenred as much as Arthur did and for the same reason.

“He killed my whole family,” Percival put in suddenly. He’d mostly kept quiet and it was a surprise to hear him speak. “I’d join any army that rose against him.”

“Me too,” Lancelot put in. “This kingdom is rotten through and through. And I think people would be glad to be free of it.”

Elyan sighed. “I’d gladly fight against Cenred. But you’re all forgetting something. They have sorcerers. It doesn’t matter how good we are at fighting with swords. One powerful sorcerer and we’d all be dead in the blink of an eye.” He looked around at the crestfallen faces. “Sorry, but it’s true.”

For a moment they all sat there sadly, the small amount of hope that they’d had at the thought of their mythical, heroic coup already dashed. Then Gwaine perked up again.

“Enough misery. Come on, throw the dice.”

So Arthur did.

If the resulting score was an omen then it didn’t bode well.

\---

Merlin had never slept anywhere so fine.

When he woke up the next morning, it took him a few moments to remember where he was. He’d overslept because the bed was so warm and comfortable. Merlin wouldn’t have minded lying there for the rest of the day. But he was hungry, and he wanted to get to know his father better. They had many years to catch up on.

The noise that must have woken him up sounded again from outside his door. It was a wailing sound, followed by scrabbling noises as if something was trying to get in. Then the wailing again.

Merlin smiled to himself, knowing exactly what that would be. He hurried across the room in his nightshirt, marvelling at how warm the rugs felt under his bare feet, and opened the door. Immediately a blur of white flung herself excitedly at him, chittering away happily.

“Aithusa,” Merlin greeted the little white dragon fondly, catching her in his arms. She still couldn’t quite fly, but was almost there, half-leaping, half-flapping. Given the improvement in just two days, Merlin supposed she’d be unstoppable within the week.

Aithusa allowed herself to be set down on his bed while Merlin looked around for clothes. She was continuing to chitter and trill at him. He supposed she was telling him all sorts of things but he couldn’t understand.

Someone had left a fine set of clothes draped over a chair for him. Merlin hesitated to pick them up, supposing that surely they were for someone else. But they were there in his room… he paused and looked around at the room again, trying to take in his abrupt change of fortune. _His_ room was fit for a prince. It was probably something like the rooms Arthur had grown up in. Arthur would fit in there just perfectly.

Aithusa trilled at him from the bed impatiently. Merlin quickly threw off his nightshirt and started to put on the new clothes. The breeches were made of some thick, warm material that Merlin had never seen before. And the shirt was spun from the softest, finest yarn. But best of all were the boots and the jacket. They were made of leather, tanned and sewn, impossibly expensive.

It didn’t seem real.

“How do I look?” he asked Aithusa.

She put her head on one side as if considering it for a moment.

“Exactly like a young dragonlord should!”

Merlin’s eyes widened momentarily, then he realised that the voice had come from behind him. He turned to see Balinor standing in the doorway nodding approvingly at him.

“Those clothes suit you. They’re probably not a great fit, but it was all we could find on short notice. I’ll have a seamstress make you more soon enough.”

There was a belt that held everything together and the fit wasn’t actually far off. Merlin held up his hands, unable to believe it.

“This is amazing!”

Aithusa seemed to take that as a cue to jump at him again. This time she managed to glide a little and when he caught her Merlin cuddled her close. She really was the most adorable creature.

“She flew!”

Balinor laughed. “Not quite, but she’s getting there. Don’t make too much fuss of her, she’ll never leave you alone!”

Aithusa chittered happily at that.

“What’s she saying?”

Balinor shrugged, coming over to the pair of them and gently stroking Aithusa’s head. “No idea. She’s just a baby. She’ll learn to speak soon enough. You teach her our language, the other dragons will teach her dragon tongue.”

“Me?”

Balinor chuckled at Merlin’s uncertainty. “Yes boy, you. She’s obviously taken with you, she’ll be your dragon when she’s grown. We all have one dragon that we’re close to. Mine’s that crotchety old Kilgharrah out on the hillside. You’ll meet him soon enough. Grumpy devil he is. You’ll likely have Aithusa here. She’ll grow fast and you’ll need to train her.”

Merlin had no idea how to train a dragon. “Me?” he repeated. “I don’t know how!”

“And I’ll train _you_,” Balinor told him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Ah, I can’t believe it. A son! Your mother was a fine, fine woman. That Uther Pendragon though, he was set on killing all the dragonlords. It wasn’t safe for me to stay with her. I had to go. I had no idea about you being on the way. I thought she would find someone else, marry and be happy. Being on the run all the time was no life for her.”

“She never married,” Merlin confirmed. He saw his father’s face soften fondly at that news. “She always said that once you’d really fallen in love there was no room in your heart for another man. That was all she ever used to say about you. That, and the fact you’d had to leave. And then she’d be sad and I just didn’t like to ask her.”

Balinor was clearly drinking up those words. There was hope in his eyes. “I didn’t deserve a woman like her. Broke my heart to leave her, it did.”

“I miss her,” Merlin said truthfully. “I haven’t seen her in three years. I don’t even know whether she’s still alive.”

“We’ll fly over this afternoon. She’ll want to see you. Yes.” Balinor stood for a moment, pondering, then nodded. “Yes, this afternoon. That’s what we’ll do. We must go to the castle first, I need to declare you to the king, report Edwin and those guards. And then… yes. This afternoon. Goodness. Hunith. She really didn’t marry?”

“I would have noticed, I think,” Merlin told him, smiling.

“Perhaps in the last three years though, while you’ve been away? She’s a fine woman. Any man would be lucky to have her as his wife. A fine woman.”

Merlin tried not to laugh. He could well imagine what his mother would say at being called a fine woman (at least four times over) and really if Balinor looked at her like a lovesick calf at the same time then Hunith was really going to have a field day. She’d had a number of men interested over the years but she was resolutely single and happy to stay that way. Still, she’d always claimed that was out of love for Merlin’s father. Merlin wasn’t sure what she’d do if that man actually came back into her life. As it was he existed as a romantic fantasy for her. Hunith was a strong, independent woman and always had been. It was how she’d managed to raise a son on her own.

Merlin just hoped that Balinor wasn’t going to end up too disappointed by her reaction.

\---

Morgana stared coldly down from the throne she had been told that she must sit upon. It was smaller than Cenred’s, of course. She was to be the queen once they were married and would be expected to defer to him in all things.

The first chance she got, she would be showing him exactly how little she intended doing that. Perhaps someone would give her a jewelled dagger as a wedding present. That would do nicely if he ever tried to consummate the marriage. Morgause insisted that he wouldn’t, that Morgana would be a political marriage only and Cenred would never touch her. He was after all as good as married to Morgause.

But Morgana had seen that sort of situation before in other royal houses, heard the stories over the years. Eventually Cenred would decide he wanted an heir, or simply wanted a change of companion, and suddenly she would be expected to sleep with him. The thought of him anywhere near her made her feel nauseated.

There was less than two weeks left until her wedding day. Lavish celebrations were being planned. There would be jugglers and fools, singers and storytellers on the streets. A giant feast in the castle grounds was being organised where selected citizens would be invited to dine. No doubt they would all be people who had Cenred’s favour for some reason or another. That disgusting creature who had killed Uther would probably be there. Morgana shuddered.

“Are you cold, my lady?” Gwen whispered. Gwen was always there at her side, quick to notice if anything was wrong. Cenred was not even looking at Morgana as he was turned away on his own ornate throne to talk to Morgause. Morgana felt that she could be bleeding to death up there and Cenred would not notice. A chill would be nothing to concern him.

“Just an unpleasant thought,” she assured Gwen, though Gwen’s worried expression said that she was anything but reassured by that. “I’m not cold.”

And yet she was, she could feel the ice forming around her heart. She had Gwen, and Arthur was still alive for now at least, and those two people alone kept her going even if she could only see Arthur from a distance. The future didn’t look bright for him though. Sooner or later he would be struck down no matter how great a swordsman he was.

Cenred would not spare his life when that happened. There was no question that he would send Arthur through the Gate of Death, like so many gladiators before him. Cenred would relish doing so as well. He would undoubtedly force her to watch.

The central entertainment would be in the arena of course. Morgause had said that there would be a chance for some of the gladiators to battle for their freedom. That wouldn’t include Arthur or Leon of course. Or Galahad if he had survived – he had been carried off injured during the games a few days earlier. Leon and Galahad would be unlikely to earn their freedom, being Camelot knights. For Arthur it was an impossibility. He was the rightful king, after all.

Morgause had spoken of dragons as well. The dragonlords would be flying in to pay their respects to the newlyweds. There would be a small display from the dragons, all in the king’s honour of course.

Morgana had never seen a dragon.

Uther banned magic and hunted both dragons and dragonlords, along with anything else that he considered sorcerous. Yet Morgana had heard stories as a child of the almost mystical beasts and the brave men and women who commanded them. She had dreamed back then of being carried off to have countless adventures where she rode on the back of a beautiful white dragon, a flaming sword in her hand and a righteous quest in her heart. But then she’d only been about six years old and soon enough such dreams had been replaced by the prophetic nightmares that marked her as a seer, and magic became a thing of horror.

Still, she was almost looking forward to seeing the dragons.

The dragonlords themselves were about to appear. Lord Balinor, their leader, had requested an audience with the king and was bringing all his kin with him. Apparently it was a nuisance as far as Cenred was concerned, but the dragonlords were powerful and their loyalty needed to be retained.

The main doors to the throne room opened to reveal four men and a woman. One of the men was considerably younger than the others and had a large wicker basket strapped on his back. There was something moving around in it but Morgana couldn’t quite make out what it was. The young man looked extremely nervous but that wasn’t the case for the other four. All of them, particularly the heavily bearded man at the centre of the group, had quite a self-important look to them.

“Lord Balinor, Lord Alator, Lord Orn, Lady Finna and Merlin son of Balinor.”

“Merlin!” she heard Gwen breathe beside her. It was barely audible, which was fortunate as Cenred did not like the servants to speak in his presence.

“A friend of yours?” Morgana whispered to her.

Gwen nodded, wide-eyed, but had the good sense to say nothing further. Still, Morgana felt predisposed to like the young man. Any friend of Gwen’s had to be a decent person.

Cenred was more interested in watching the five of them walk forward and bow to him. The dragonlords all gave quite sparse bows, as if it were something of an insult to be asked to do so. Merlin bowed so deeply that the creature in his basket nearly tipped out. It was a very small white dragon and it chattered at him for the offense.

It was quite the most adorable thing that Morgana had ever seen.

“Balinor, I assume you are here regarding the incident in the city last night?” Cenred asked. “Edwin Muir was a highly regarded physician. I do not expect your dragons to attack my city. They are here for our protection, not destruction. I trust you have some explanation?”

The bearded man stepped forward. This, Morgana assumed, was Lord Balinor. She smiled at him, because he appeared to have annoyed Cenred and that was always going to be something that met with Morgana’s approval.

“Your highness,” Balinor began, “I have come here to introduce my son Merlin as dragonlord in waiting.”

“I didn’t know you had a son, Balinor,” Cenred told him. “I have never heard mention of a son, or wife or even a lady friend.” He turned to smile at Morgause, and the pair of them laughed. Morgana just ignored it. She was more than happy for her future husband not to be interested in her sexually or any way at all. Morgause was welcome to him.

“Merlin’s mother is a brave lady who shielded me during Uther Pendragon’s purge and then later aided my escape. I wasn’t aware until yesterday that I had a son either.” Balinor gestured for Merlin to step forward. “Merlin has grown into a fine young man and is now recognised as my heir. I bring him here today to introduce him to you as such. You also expressed a wish to see the newly hatched dragon. Aithusa has become very attached to Merlin as you can see. It was Aithusa’s affection for him that first alerted me to the fact that Merlin probably had dragonlord blood running through his veins. I had no idea at the time what that would mean for us both.” He smiled fondly at his son, who was just gazing fearfully at the king. And at Morgause, possibly even more fearfully.

Merlin, Morgana noticed, was wearing iron cuffs, marking him as a bound sorcerer. They were partly hidden beneath the sleeves of his jacket, but she could see them. That explained how he knew Gwen. He would have been some kind of servant.

“Come here, boy,” Morgause commanded. “Hold out your hands.”

Merlin glanced worriedly at his father, who nodded to him.

“Do as Morgause says. Don’t be afraid.”

Merlin obviously was afraid though, Morgana could see that. She wondered if it was Morgause who had put the cuffs on him in the first place. She watched as Merlin nervously approached the throne and did as he was bid. The skin around the cuffs looked red and sore. Morgana wondered how long they had been on him, and whether her own would one day look like that.

“You’re a slave,” Cenred stated. “A bound sorcerer, who has not sworn loyalty to the crown!” he frowned at Balinor.

“An error, I’m sure,” Morgause said smoothly. “Because all dragonlords, whether in waiting or not, would swear allegiance. The law, Balinor. You _are_ familiar with it?”

“You raided his home in Ealdor, killed his friend and forced these on him. I would not have sworn allegiance in that situation either,” Balinor snapped. “He’s been working at the arena as apprentice physician. Saving the lives of your people. How is that not allegiance?”

The arena. Morgana realised who Merlin was at that point. Gwen had talked about her friends, and there had been a bound sorcerer amongst them who worked as a physician in the arena. Gwen was very fond of him

“Was this boy Muir’s slave?” Cenred asked.

“He was. Muir was… abusing him. No decent man would tolerate that. There are also two guards at the arena that I want dismissed and arrested for their behaviour towards him. Dagr and Ebor. And also Valiant, the man you freed yesterday…”

Cenred held up a hand. “Stop. Valiant is a hero. He executed the tyrant Uther Pendragon!”

Morgana flinched at the memory. She could feel Morgause’s eyes on her so sat up straight, trying to look as expressionless as she could.

“He and his friends also assaulted my son,” Balinor argued. “Merlin is dragonlord in waiting. When I am gone it will be he who commands the great dragon. I demand justice for my family.”

Cenred’s nostrils flared a little at the ‘demand’. Morgana supposed that few people dared demand anything. But Balinor had dragons on his side. And he was right about Merlin, although Morgana couldn’t imagine the young man having control of a full-sized dragon.

“The two guards,” Cenred conceded. “I will allow your request regarding them. Not Valiant.”

Morgana could see that Balinor didn’t like it, but the dragonlord obviously knew better than to argue a case he would never win.

“Thank you, your majesty. I would also ask that my son is declared a free man, and that the bindings are removed.”

“Interesting,” Cenred mused. “Merlin, tell me, do you understand our laws?”

“Yes your majesty.”

“Did you not understand that even as a slave, you have the option to petition me and regain your magic in return for swearing allegiance to the crown? You chose not to do that?”

Merlin looked down at the bindings on his wrist, then back up at the king. Behind him the little dragon gave a low whistle.

“I was afraid, your majesty. The Commander of Magic struck my friend down for trying to help me when she came to my village. I was afraid that she would still be angry.”

It sounded a little rehearsed to Morgana’s ears. But then Balinor would have made sure his son knew exactly what to say for the best. She studied Cenred and Morgause’s expressions, trying to gauge whether or not they were taken in.

“It was in the early days of the kingdom,” Balinor put in quickly. “As I recall, you were quite fierce, Morgause. Merlin here would have no way of knowing that things have changed. As a sorcerer loyal to Essetir he would have nothing to fear.”

“Is that true, Merlin?” Cenred asked. “Are you loyal to Essetir? To me?”

There was just the very briefest of hesitation, then Merlin nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am loyal to my king.” He bowed, and Aithusa again scrabbled around in the basket, chiding him loudly.

“What do you think?” Cenred asked. He was speaking to Morgause. Really he was king in name only. It was her that held all the power.

“I think we should speak in private,” Morgause decided. “Come with me.” She got up and headed for a side door, not even looking to see if Cenred was following. And the king of Essetir, supposed ruler of what was now many kingdoms all merged into one, did as he was told.

As the door closed behind them, Morgana immediately held out her hands to the visitors.

“I would love to meet your baby dragon, if I may?”

Merlin glanced at his father, who reached over and lifted Aithusa out of the basket, waited until Merlin had unstrapped the basket and could move a little more freely, then handed her to Merlin.

“Do as the queen asks. Don’t let Aithusa loose, I don’t want a bill for a new dress sent to the estate.”

Merlin carefully stepped up to Morgana, the small white dragon in his hands. She could tell how much he loved Aithusa just from the gentle, careful way that he was holding her in his arms. Aithusa for her part was clearly loving being held.

“I’m surprised you managed to keep her in the basket,” Lady Finna commented. “You’re doing very well, Merlin.”

“Took to him right away,” Balinor confirmed proudly. “Recognised a dragonlord even before anyone else knew it.”

Morgana saw Merlin exchange a quick smile with Gwen, though neither said anything. He held Aithusa out just a little way, still keeping hold of her. Aithusa made an odd little whistling sound and tilted her head on one side, regarding Morgana carefully.

“She’s beautiful,” Morgana exclaimed. “Oh and I know you and Gwen are friends, Merlin. Cenred may object to servants speaking but I do not. Do please talk freely.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Gwen immediately stepped forward, and being very careful not to startle the baby dragon gave her friend a hug. “We have a _lot_ to talk about!” She gestured to Merlin’s outfit, which did look quite new. “What happened?”

Merlin started to explain to Gwen that he was now living with his father on a grand estate. Morgana was only half-listening. Aithusa’s dear little face was looking up at her and Morgana thought she might be slightly in love already. She carefully reached out to stroke the top of the dragon’s tiny head, which caused Aithusa to purr happily.

“She likes you,” Merlin commented.

“Excellent judge of character,” Balinor confirmed. He was keeping very close to Merlin. “I’d advise that you step back a little, ma’am,” he added to Gwen. “Best not to all seem too friendly when they come back in.”

Merlin looked as if he was about to step back as well, so Morgana held out her hands. “Please let me hold her.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Lady Finna advised. “Dragons have claws. She could accidentally snag the material of that beautiful dress.”

“Or scratch you,” Lord Alator added. All the dragonlords had approached her. Morgana wondered if they were trying to protect her or Aithusa. Aithusa, she suspected.

“I’ll take my chances,” Morgana told him, holding out her hands. She saw Merlin glance up at Gwen, and supposed that her maid must have given some signal that it was okay, because Merlin then very carefully placed Aithusa in Morgana’s lap.

“Behave yourself,” Merlin told the little dragon. “This is the queen. You’re very honoured.”

“Not queen yet,” Morgana pointed out, not taking her eyes off Aithusa. “Oh, you are so precious, aren’t you?”

“Wait until she’s twenty feet tall and is swallowing lambs in a single bite,” Balinor said. “Not so cute then.”

Morgana didn’t care. Meeting Aithusa was only the second good thing that had happened to her since the fall of Camelot, and she was determined to enjoy the little time she had been given. Merlin had a few snacks in his pocket for the baby and showed Morgana how to safely feed her. Seeing Aithusa’s delighted little face warmed Morgana’s heart.

“Arthur would probably have tried to hunt her,” she admitted without thinking. “He’d have chased her through the forests!”

“He wouldn’t do that now,” Merlin protested. “She’s my dragon, he wouldn’t.”

Morgana stilled, gazing at Merlin. “You know my brother well?”

Very well judging by the way Merlin’s guilty face was reddening. Small wonder, she could see Merlin’s dark hair, slender build and delicate features being just what Arthur liked.

“I worked in the arena,” Merlin explained. “We’re friends.”

“Mmm.” Aithusa pushed at Morgana’s hand, wanting more attention. Gently Morgana began to resume stroking her. “Well if you see your _friend_ again, Merlin, do give him my love and assure him that I am well. He is very dear to me.”

Merlin looked as if he was going to reply, but at that moment the door opened and Cenred and Morgause returned. Balinor quickly nudged Merlin aside and went to retrieve Aithusa. The other dragonlords retreated to a respectful distance.

“I’m gone for a moment and you set that creature on my queen, Balinor?” Cenred grumbled. He didn’t look at Morgana as he sat back down on his throne.

“I asked to meet the baby dragon,” Morgana told him, but he waved her silent, uninterested.

“We’ve reached a decision,” Cenred told his audience. “Merlin, step forward, stretch out your arms.”

Merlin glanced worriedly at his father who was settling Aithusa back down in the basket.

“Do as you’re told before we change our minds,” Morgause snapped. “Your king has agreed to return your magic to you. You are most fortunate.”

Merlin still looked worried, but he did as he was bid, stretching his arms out in front of him so that Morgause could easily access the cuffs.

“How long has your magic been bound?” Morgause enquired.

“More than three years,” Merlin told her.

“This will be painful after so long,” Morgause warned, her eyes glowing gold. “You should brace yourself.”

In the basket Aithusa was sitting up, almost entranced by what Morgause was doing. The little dragon chirruped excitedly as the iron cuffs on Merlin’s wrists glowed momentarily golden and then fell away, clattering to the floor.

Merlin gasped and doubled up as if he’d been punched in the chest, staggering a few steps then falling to his knees, crying out in pain. Beside her, Morgana heard Gwen make a soft exclamation of distress. Morgana reached back to take her hand reassuringly, hoping that she would not further draw any attention to herself. But Merlin was in obvious pain, and it was distressing to watch.

“Can you not help him?” Morgana implored Morgause, but she acted as if she hadn’t heard. Morgana hated her just a little more.

“Merlin!” Balinor crouched beside him, concern etched into his features. “Hold on, boy, this will pass.”

Lady Finna was also at his side, trying to help. She was a little more practical, kneeling in front of Merlin and taking his hands in hers, talking softly to him and encouraging him to try to breathe through the pain. Morgana thought she saw a flash of gold in the female dragonlord’s eyes and wondered if she was a healer. Magical healing would be a wonderful thing. Merlin seemed to be a little better after that but didn’t let go of her hands for a while.

“I did warn you,” Morgause told them. “Three years is a long time to have your magic dormant. You should take him away from here now, Balinor. There’s no telling how your son will react. I would rather he didn’t accidentally blow up the throne room or something.”

“Yes, you’re dismissed,” Cenred agreed. “Take him away. The small lizard too. I suppose it’ll be years before that thing is good for use in battle? Very disappointing.”

Morgana gazed down at little Aithusa and hoped that she would never be any good for use in battle. How Cenred could look at the sweet creature and only see a weapon of war was beyond her. Also she wondered at the fact that Cenred expected a newly hatched baby to be much larger than Aithusa’s current size.

“I would very much like to visit her as she grows,” she requested. Lord Orn was the only one who appeared to have heard her, the others were too concerned with Merlin’s wellbeing.

“It will be arranged, my queen,” Orn told her with a little bow.

“Leave now!” Cenred insisted, waving his hand at the dragonlords imperiously. “Carry the boy out if you must. Go.”

Orn picked up the basket that held Aithusa and slung it over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to be as careful with her as the others had been. Morgana hoped that Merlin recovered quickly and took charge of the little creature again.

The group didn’t even bother with formal farewells. Balinor and Alator supported Merlin between them and left as quickly as they could. Morgana watched them go, wishing she could have had longer with the little dragon. And longer with Merlin as well. She wanted to hear more about Arthur.

“I suppose it will be like that for me when you remove these,” Morgana asked Morgause, holding up the jewelled cuffs that she wore. “He was in agony.”

“It depends how long you wear them for,” Morgause told her. “The longer they remain, the more painful it is when the restraint is lifted. I knew a sorcerer once who had worn them for nearly fifteen years. The return of his magic when they were removed sent him insane. Even when the restraints were put back it was too late and his mind was gone.”

“Yours will not be removed,” Cenred stated. “It may have been a mistake to free Balinor’s son. Did you hear what he said to me? I am loyal to _my_ king! Where does he come from? Who was his king? Who was he talking about?”

“My dear, he comes from Ealdor. That’s always been in your kingdom,” Morgause pointed out. “You are his king.”

Morgana wasn’t so sure about that. There was something about Merlin, about the way he’d looked when they’d briefly spoken about Arthur. She very much doubted that Merlin regarded Cenred as his king.

“Nevertheless, we can take the measures that we spoke of to ensure that he is loyal, his father as well. In fact I wouldn’t trust any of that group, with the possible exception of Lord Orn,” Morgause continued. “He is less interested in the dragons and more interested in power. If necessary I am sure he could be quite useful. Balinor has had things his own way for far too long.”

Cenred looked confused. “Balinor has always been loyal. I thought it was only the son we were having followed?”

“It’s all of them. Balinor has too much power. We don’t need four dragonlords. One is enough. So we hire these guards, and your Valiant as well, get them to spy on this Merlin. See where he goes, who his friends are.” Morgause turned and suddenly appeared to remember that Morgana was there. “You can leave now, sister. Return to your room, I will visit you later.”

Reluctantly, as she wanted to find out what the rest of the plans were, Morgana got up from the throne and made her way to the door. Gwen followed her.

“Oh, and sister?” Morgause called pleasantly as Morgana reached the door. “Don’t even attempt to let that boy know he’s being followed.”

“How could I do that when you have me here under lock and key?” Morgana pointed out.

“Your maid obviously knows him. I noticed her reaction when he came in. One word of warning to him from either of you and she’ll find herself in the arena with the wyverns. The crowd always enjoys that particular spectacle I’ve noticed.”

“Oh yes,” Cenred smirked. “Always a pleaser. I’m sure you’d both go down well. Hah! Go down well!” He laughed at his own joke.

Morgana thought she saw Morgause roll her eyes at that. Well, Morgause had chosen to be with him. It wasn’t something Morgana understood at all. The two of them deserved each other.

Morgana took Gwen’s arm and the pair of them hurried from the room before Cenred or Morgause could come up with anything else.

\---

Merlin only vaguely registered the ride home.

There had been an almost unbearable burst of sensation when his magic had been released. For a brief moment there had just been a little and it had been wonderful to have it back, and then it had all come flooding at him and it had been overwhelming.

Finna had been a great help. She and Balinor had sat with him for the entire ride back, using her magic to ease what was happening to him. By the time their wagon reached the estate Merlin was feeling a lot better. Orn and Alator had taken charge of Aithusa, who was quite distressed about it all. With Merlin sitting up and looking calmer, Alator finally released Aithusa. The little dragon more or less flew across to Merlin and landed in his lap. It was a wobbly flight, and might have been more leap than anything, but there had definitely been a few flaps of her wings.

“Ah, someone’s pleased to see you feeling better,” Finna smiled. “She’ll be your dragon when she grows, Merlin. It’s a wonderful thing to have a bond like this. Her first flight, and it was to you.”

“It’s a great responsibility,” Alator confirmed. He was a very solemn sort of man, and Merlin had yet to see him crack a smile, but it was difficult not to respect how seriously he took his responsibility as a dragonlord. He’d greeted Merlin very soberly but Merlin had got the feeling that this was due to tradition and ceremony rather than Alator actually being unhappy about Merlin being there. Lord Orn was a different matter. He had not looked at all pleased to see Merlin when Balinor had introduced him earlier that day, and had complained about them bringing Aithusa in the wagon that took them to the castle. While Balinor’s regular complaints about Aithusa were good-natured, fond grumbles, Merlin got the distinct impression that Orn was actually irritated by her. He decided to ask his father about it later.

The other three dragonlords all lived in houses on the estate. Merlin hadn’t actually noticed them, which suggested to him that his father’s estate might be even larger than he had at first thought. Balinor claimed that it belonged to all of them, but that didn’t appear to be the case as he appeared to be the leader.

Finna was definitely Merlin’s favourite. She didn’t immediately go off to her own house like the other two but remained with him in case of any further problems resulting from the return of his magic. She stayed for a few hours, sitting with Gaius and Balinor as they helped Merlin cope with what had happened. Her healing magic cleaned up the sores on his wrists in moments. It was something he definitely wanted to learn from her.

Having his magic back, after the initial trauma, was wonderful.

Merlin had forgotten just how good it felt. Having it blocked off had been akin to what he thought losing a limb might be like. He’d learned to live with the loss but would always miss it. Before he’d been captured Merlin had never been around other magic users either. Balinor, Gaius and Finna were all eager to act as tutors in different areas of magic. For Gaius it seemed to be a particular joy as he’d had to hide his magic during his years living at Camelot.

The four of them spent the remainder of the morning testing out Merlin’s magic. He’d never had anything to measure it by before, but his mentors all seemed impressed.

“I have never seen such strong natural talent,” Finna commented as Merlin succeeded in lighting a fire in the hearth and then getting the flames to dance in a little circle

“It’s nearly summer though, boy,” Balinor added. “Please extinguish it.”

“One flame at a time,” Gaius put in. “If you could.”

Merlin obliged, enjoying the attention and the chance to use his magic openly. Back in Ealdor he had always been forced to hide it. Only his mother and Will had known about it. Only in front of the two of them could he use it.

“My mother always let me light the fire like this,” Merlin told them. He could see his father sit up a little straighter at the mention of her. They had been supposed to go straight to Ealdor that day after visiting the castle, but Merlin had been too unwell after losing the cuffs and getting his magic back. “Only when we were alone.”

“Well you don’t have to hide it now,” Gaius told him. “None of us do.”

“One good thing about Cenred’s kingdom,” Finna agreed. “Though I’m not sure there are many other merits. The atrocities in the arena are horrific. You know he wants us to bring in the dragons for his wedding? They’re supposed to land in the arena, light a flame and then bow to him? A show of strength to his enemies? Alator is fuming.”

Balinor shrugged. “I’ll ask Kilgharrah. He’ll gladly light a flame if anyone asks him to bow! He’ll torch the arena and everyone in it!”

Finna laughed, but Gaius and Merlin did not.

“I have friends in the arena,” Merlin told them. “Good friends.”

“As do I,” Gaius added, raising his eyebrow at Balinor. “And their numbers are rapidly reducing.”

“We’re joking, boy,” Balinor clapped Merlin on the shoulder. “And I’m sorry, Gaius. You’re right. We hate the arena too. Once, Cenred tried to have the dragons do the executions. He wanted us to ride them in and have them burn the captured citizens to death, right there in front of everyone. We refused. Kilgharrah hates Cenred and would have probably just torched _him_ instead.”

“We didn’t tell Cenred that part,” Finna added, smiling. “He thinks the dragons love him.”

“We just said that smelling burning human flesh might give them a taste for it and we wouldn’t be able to control them if they went on a feeding frenzy in the arena. He didn’t suggest it again.”

Gaius snorted at that. “Stupid man. Perhaps you should have just let Kilgharrah do as he wished!”

Balinor sat back in his chair again, watching Merlin extinguishing the flames one by one, then turning the last one into a tiny dancing dragon. Aithusa perked up at that and Merlin extinguished it quickly.

“She’d have enjoyed playing with that,” Finna commented.

“She might burn herself!” Merlin stroked his little dragon’s head fondly.

Balinor snorted with laughter at that. “She’s a dragon, son! There’s a reason they were hunted for their skin at one time! Give her the fire dragon back, it’s safe.”

Merlin wasn’t entirely convinced because Aithusa was very small, but he conjured up a dragon made of flames again. Aithusa jumped up at it but couldn’t quite reach, and jumped again.

“She’s like a puppy,” Merlin commented, watching her fondly. He let the fire dragon circle just above her head, raising it when she leapt up again.

“Don’t tease her,” Finna warned. “Let her reach it.”

Aithusa jumped up again. This time she fluttered her wings for a few moments, hovering several inches off the ground. Merlin gasped and Finna clasped her hands together in delight. It was far stronger than her first attempt in the wagon earlier.

“She’s really flying this time!” Merlin cried, lowering the fire dragon so that it was right in front of the airborne Aithusa. The tiny white dragon hovered for a few moments, then fell onto the rug, chirruping and then running in a circle excitedly. “Clever girl!”

“Ah, there’ll be no holding her back now,” Balinor agreed. “Remember, she’s your responsibility, Merlin. It’s hard to control them when they’ve not learned to speak but _have_ learned to fly. And she’ll grow fast. You need to spend a lot of time working with her.”

Merlin was more than happy to do that. Aithusa was wonderful, there was just something about the little dragon that made him happy whenever he was near her. His dragonlord heritage, he supposed. But he couldn’t spend all his time with Aithusa.

“I’d love to. But I do want to go back to the arena. I have friends there, I can’t just abandon them. I was the main physician. The others didn’t bother unless a gladiator was about to become a free man and there would be money in it for them. They’d leave people to die.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near that place!” Balinor growled. “It’s dangerous. Look what happened last time? You say Arthur Pendragon is a decent man but plenty of others aren’t.”

“But those guards are gone,” Merlin protested. “And I wouldn’t be going in there as a helpless slave with my magic bound. I’d be going in as your son, with my magic right there to protect me. And if Gaius and Lady Finna can teach me more about healing then I can really do some good. I can save lives.”

Aithusa chose that moment to spring up again, flapping her little wings. She was getting stronger before their very eyes, managing to land on Merlin’s shoulder. She’d done that in the arena, but it had been more of a scrambling leap rather than an actual flight. Merlin went to pet her but she gave a shrill cry when his hand reached up. He was starting to recognise that particular sound and reached into his pocket to find her a treat.

“You’re spoiling her,” Balinor warned as Merlin fed Aithusa. “And I still don’t like the idea of you going to the arena. I suppose I can’t stop you. Just like your mother when she set her mind to anything.”

Merlin knew exactly what Balinor meant. He had never yet managed to win an argument with his strong-willed mother. Her steely resolve had kept the pair of them going over the years.

“She’d do the same thing,” Merlin confirmed. “She taught me which herbs are best for healing.”

“She learned that from me,” Gaius put in. “My best student. Ran away during the purge to be with this one.” He nodded towards Balinor. “Still writes to me, or she did until Camelot fell. I have written her a letter to tell her where I am. Though I doubt that where I am will be of anywhere near as much interest to her as who I am with. Merlin, I know she misses you and worries about you terribly. She’ll be so happy that you are safe. I started to write as soon as you left yesterday.”

It was the first news Merlin had of his mother in three years. He was so relieved that for a moment he could barely speak. Embarrassingly there were tears in his eyes but he supposed nobody there would mind.

“I assume there is a messenger that you use?” Gaius asked Balinor. “I’d like Hunith to know as soon as possible.”

“I have dragons,” Balinor told him. “I don’t need a messenger.” He got to his feet and gestured impatiently for Merlin to get up too. “Come on, son, we can deliver Gaius’ message in person. Can’t make Hunith wait any longer.”

“Are you quite recovered, Merlin?” Finna checked.

Merlin smiled back at her kind face. “Thanks to you, yes.”

“Ah, seeing your mother will be the best medicine anyway,” Finna stood and gave him a warm hug. “I’ll see you again soon, Merlin. I look forward to teaching you and watching you grow.”

Merlin doubted that he was going to get any taller but he supposed that wasn’t what she meant. He hugged her back, liking his new adopted family very much.

“Let’s get moving then,” Balinor insisted, already heading for the door. “Finna, look after Aithusa while we’re gone. She’ll be worn out soon and want to sleep. Merlin, you’ll need some gloves and a cloak. You can have one of mine until we’ve sorted out more clothes for you. Dragons are warm enough, great fiery beasts, but the wind can be cold up there. I don’t want to present you back to your mother with frostbite or the like!”

No, Merlin supposed as he followed his father out of the room, that wouldn’t have the desired effect at all. Balinor was making an effort to look presentable, and Merlin doubted that was for Cenred’s benefit earlier. He wasn’t entirely sure but he thought his father’s hair looked considerably less untamed than it had the previous night. Merlin had put it down to Balinor just having rushed over to Edwin’s house but now he wasn’t quite so sure. It looked recently trimmed, as did his beard. Balinor was always going to look fairly wild-haired and shaggy, Merlin supposed. That probably went with the territory of riding around on dragons and needing to keep warm. Although Orn and Alator were both shaven-headed Merlin had yet to actually see them on a dragon and he was starting to suspect that his father was the one best suited to that role. There had been the blue dragon the day before that Balinor had claimed Alator couldn’t handle, and the fact that all the stabling for the dragons was close to Balinor’s residence. Alator and Orn were definitely lesser dragonlords.

He didn’t want to think of Finna in the same way as she was being so kind to him, but it was likely to be the case that she was on a par with Alator and Orn. His mother would get on very well with Finna, he thought. Assuming Hunith decided to come back with them. It wouldn’t just be Balinor that would try to persuade her. Merlin had missed Hunith very much. He was sure they could persuade her to visit for a while, and then work on her from there.

“Here, try this one.”

Balinor had led them to what appeared to be some sort of storage room at the back of the house. It was fairly small, and along one wall were a row of pegs from which a variety of cloaks and other outdoorwear were hanging. Merlin was a little sad at the thought that articles of clothing had a better home than the one he’d had at Edwin’s, but he let it pass. Dragons were the industry there and both riders and caretakers would need protective clothing if working with them.

Balinor handed Merlin a thick, warm cloak, very similar to one Merlin had seen him wearing the previous night. It was very slightly too short as Merlin was a few inches taller than his father, but that made little difference. It was one of the warmest items of clothing Merlin had ever worn, although that wouldn’t have been difficult given the threadbare items that he’d been forced to use whilst working for Edwin.

Balinor had dug out some leather gloves as well, then paused to consider another cloak.

“Do you think your mother might want to come and visit?” he asked hesitantly. “She’s not seen you for a long time. We should take a cloak for her, just in case. Do you think?”

Balinor had quite sad eyes, Merlin noticed. He wondered if that was what had done it, whether his mother had fallen for that. Or perhaps it was the dragons? It could have been anything. Merlin had fallen for a handsome prince who’d been insulting when they first met, after all. He still wasn’t quite sure why because Merlin certainly didn’t consider himself shallow enough to simply fall for Arthur’s looks. That was the trouble with love. Not that he was actually in love with Arthur. It was just attraction. A lot of attraction. Arthur was very brave after all. And kind. And attractive.

“Merlin?”

Merlin nodded, smiling at his father. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to have Arthur, but at least his parents might stand a chance of happiness together. “I think she’d love it here. I’ll do my best to persuade her.”

Balinor’s face broke into a delighted smile which he immediately tried to hide, turning away from Merlin and picking carefully through the remaining cloaks until he found one he thought suitable.

“What about this one? It’s got some mud on the hem but Rose would brush it clean if I asked her, I’m sure.”

“It’s fine. My mother won’t care about a spot of mud.”

Balinor took the cloak and some gloves, then strapped them all together in a bundle that he slung over his shoulder. It was a fast, practiced action that he’d obviously done many times before. Then he headed for the door, Merlin following.

“Are we going to ride Faerova again?” Merlin asked as they headed out to the fields behind the house.

“You will be,” Balinor told him and Merlin felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of riding a dragon alone. Not fear though. Staying on Faerova had been simplicity itself.

“I’ll ride Kilgharrah,” Balinor continued. “Now watch. This is how you summon a dragon. You won’t be able to, not until you inherit my powers, but it’s good to learn. The language comes from within you. You’ll not understand a word of it, not until you’re a dragonlord.”

That wasn’t confusing at all. Merlin elected to just stand and watch. He had a feeling he wouldn’t understand anyway.

Balinor stood in the field and took a deep breath, stretching out his arms towards the hills. When he spoke, his voice was quite unlike what Merlin had heard from him before. It was deep and powerful, roaring up the hillside. The whole valley had to have heard it.

_“Ei drakone, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!”_

The sound of dragon wings beating through the air made Merlin turn to look. Faerova was coming towards them over the top of the house. She landed neatly in the field, folded in her wings and bowed to Balinor.

“She’s so beautiful,” Merlin breathed. Faerova really was. Tall and the brightest green, everything he had ever imagined a fairytale dragon would look like. She made a noise that sounded a little like laughter and stretched her neck towards him, allowing him to tentatively stroke her nose. Merlin wondered if she understood what he’d said. He turned to ask Balinor, but the man was busy summoning another dragon.

_"O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!” _

There was nothing for a few moments, then Merlin heard the sound of dragon wings once more. The sky seemed to grow overcast, but it wasn’t clouds that were blocking out the sun. It was the great dragon.

Merlin looked at his father with new respect. Balinor had ordered the magnificent beast to come to him, and the dragon had obeyed. As the dragon landed, Merlin felt a tremor through the ground.

Kilgharrah was enormous.

The huge beast had to be at least three times the size of Faerova. The green dragon had seemed huge the previous night but now Merlin could see that she was small in comparison. She was also evidently respectful of the larger dragon, bowing her head to him much as she had to Balinor. Kilgharrah bowed his head back to her though, so perhaps it was just a dragon greeting? Merlin knew he had much to learn.

Kilgharrah looked at both Balinor and Merlin, then opened his mouth. Merlin felt a thrill of fear. That massive jaw could envelop him and swallow him whole, he was sure of it. And then Kilgharrah spoke, and Merlin almost fell over with shock.

“Young warlock, we finally meet.”

“He speaks the common tongue!” Merlin exclaimed. “I can understand him!”

“I have lived over a thousand years,” Kilgharrah boomed. He sounded a little irritated. “I have seen civilisations rise and fall. I have far greater knowledge than can ever be held in the minds of men.”

“Kilgharrah, this is my son, Merlin.”

“I am well aware who this is, Balinor. The coming together of Emrys and the once and future king have long been prophesied.”

Merlin made a silent, questioning ‘o’ with his mouth, and looked to his father for answers. But Balinor looked as stunned as Merlin did.

“Emrys is just a druid legend.”

“Dragons are legends to those who have not seen them. The time of Albion’s salvation is at hand. The ancient prophecies speak of this time, and of the king and warlock who will forge the new world between them. Two sides of the same coin.”

“My son is called Merlin, not Emrys. Why would you call him Emrys?” Balinor protested. “You’re wrong, Kilgharrah. Gods, I’ve just found him. Emrys… no. No, he can’t be.”

“And yet he is. You have seen how powerful he is. The witch was right to bind him, though she has no idea who she had in her grasp. Under your father’s tuition you will rise up, Merlin and embrace your destiny. Albion will be united and both peace and magic will reign.”

“I don’t want to work with Cenred,” Merlin protested, finding his voice. “He’s a monster!”

“Indeed. And he will go the way of monsters. It is _Arthur_ who is the once and future king. It is Arthur who is the other side of your coin. Two halves will make a whole. You will rule Albion together, uniting the land.”

“Arthur Pendragon?” Balinor exclaimed, horrified. “_Uther’s_ son?”

“Arthur isn’t like his father,” Merlin put in. “He’s fair, he’s kind. They pitted him against one of the best warriors and when Arthur defeated him he spared his life.”

“This shows what he will be. You both have a great destiny. Cenred should not be king. His reign must end so that Arthur’s can begin.”

Balinor and Merlin were silent for a moment, staring at each other, stunned. Finally Balinor spoke.

“Well,” he said. “I suppose I won’t be stopping you returning to the arena tomorrow.”

\---

Hunith trudged wearily back to her little cottage on the edge of Ealdor. It had been a long day working the fields and she was glad to be heading home. Not that it had been much of a home for the past three years, since the terrible day that Cenred’s people had swept into the village and taken her only child away.

Three long years and not a single word from Merlin in all that time.

Sometimes she thought that she should just leave, strike out on a quest to try to find him. But he could be anywhere. Cenred’s empire had spread so far. If she stayed put then he would know where to find her when he was able to come home.

He had not come home.

Sometimes, especially when she was cold and tired and the nights were drawing in, the lonely empty house was too much for her and she would curl up in bed or in front of the fire, crying bitterly at her loss. The summer was a little easier, there was more work to do on the land. That distracted her a little. Not enough. Never enough. She would never forget.

She walked past Will’s family’s cottage. It had stood empty for a while, but there was a young family in there now. Better than leaving it to waste. Dear, brave, foolhardy Will. He’d always been such a good friend to Merlin. More like brothers than many genuine siblings that she could think of. He’d stepped in, tried to stop them taking his friend.

The cold-eyed blonde woman who had been in charge had powerful magic. Will had none. And Merlin, after the woman had put those iron cuffs on him, also had none. One moment Will had been fighting with her, trying to help Merlin get free. The next he had been lying on the ground, eyes staring sightlessly up at the sky, all the life gone from him.

Merlin had started crying then, no longer fighting his captors. That was the last she saw of her son, his eyes red with tears for his dead friend. He’d been allowed to take one small pack of belongings before being loaded into a cart that held other cuffed men and women. And then that cart had driven away.

Hunith had tried to follow, not even thinking about what she was doing. But she was on foot and the cart was driven by horses. It was out of sight too quickly, no chance of her ever catching it. And so she’d returned to Ealdor and the grief-stricken wailing of Will’s mother. There were no accusations, they both knew how much their sons loved each other. They had both lost their boys. But Will’s mother had died that winter, taken by a sickness that swept the village. Hunith hadn’t been able to find a cure in time. Her knowledge of herbs was good but that time it had failed.

So many things had failed.

“What’s that?” A little boy had been playing on the path ahead of her and looked around as she approached. But his attention had been caught by something behind her and he was pointing up in the sky. Hunith turned to look, curious.

Out in the distance, over the far hills there was something in the sky. It was too big to be a bird, not that far away. She shielded her eyes against the late afternoon sun and squinted at the shape. No, not singular. There were two of them up there, growing larger by the moment.

“Dragons!” the boy yelled. “It’s dragons!”

Hunith gazed up at the sky, wondering as she always did what might have been. Her life could have been so different if she’d gone with Balinor that night when Uther’s knights had come to the village. Perhaps she would have slowed him. With Merlin on the way she certainly would have done, but she hadn’t realised that at the time. And perhaps by now he was long dead anyway. Uther had come so close to wiping all the dragonlords out. But he’d failed, and occasionally, maybe once or twice a year, she would see a dragon flying in the distance and think of Balinor.

And she thought of Merlin, too, because if Balinor was dead then her son would be a dragonlord himself now. He probably wouldn’t even know it, because who would teach him?

The boy’s cries had alerted other villagers and they were coming out of their homes, looking up at the sky. Dragons were still rare, and something worthy of attention. They would be gone in a moment, they always were.

They didn’t go.

The two dragons were coming closer, seemingly on a course that would take them right over Ealdor. One was far larger than the other, yet they were travelling together, keeping pace with each other. Hunith watched them fondly. It reminded her of happier times. Sweet nights in her little cottage. Evenings when they walked out to the next valley and Balinor would call his dragon. They would fly together on the creature’s back. That gruff, gentle giant of a dragon. The larger dragon up there looked so much like him. She squinted again, unsure.

It _was_ Kilgharrah.

Hunith’s hand involuntarily flew to her mouth and she uttered a little gasp of shock. Kilgharrah was still alive. And there was a man riding on his back. They were still heading for Ealdor.

“They’re coming down!” the little boy shrieked, jumping up and down with excitement. “The dragons! The dragons!” His mother rushed over and grabbed hold of him, then hurried back to her house. Hunith could hear the little boy protesting all the way that he wanted to stay and watch.

Now that it was clear that the dragons were coming in to land very close to Ealdor some of the villagers were starting to panic. Hunith could hear screams and was vaguely aware of people milling around her. But she stayed put, seeing the familiar features of the great dragon coming into focus as he flew lower. It was harder to see the man on Kilgharrah’s back as he was partly obscured by his own cloak and hood, partly by Kilgharrah’s gigantic head.

It couldn’t be Balinor. There was no reason for him to suddenly appear. Besides, she had long ago accepted that he was probably dead, lost to her forever. It had to be someone else. There were other dragonlords after all. There was one on the smaller dragon. She glanced at that one, not recognising the dragon. But as it got closer she did recognise the dragon’s rider. Hunith stared, not sure that she could trust her eyes. Yet it was Merlin, she was certain of it. Her boy.

The two dragons came in to land on the outskirts of the village. The ground shook very slightly when Kilgharrah’s massive bulk hit it. She remembered that feeling well. But mostly she remembered the face of the smaller dragon’s rider. That beloved face that she’d missed so much in the past few years. And there he was, back at Ealdor, riding in on a dragon of all things.

For a moment she just gazed at her son, not quite able to believe it. And then she broke into a run, ignoring the shouts of her fellow villagers that she should be careful lest the dragons eat her.

They wouldn’t dare.

If Merlin was a dragonlord now then Balinor had to be dead. She thought she’d accepted it, but the final proof was a shock. Hunith tried to push the feeling aside, she would grieve him properly later, privately. For now there was Merlin, grinning at her as he climbed down from the green dragon’s back.

Merlin had grown in those three years. He looked taller, though perhaps it was just her memory playing tricks, thinking of him as a little boy. The heavy cloak that he wore didn’t look right on him, though he was already unclasping it and throwing it aside. It was too old for such a young man. And without it she could see he was so very thin, as if he hadn’t been eating.

“Merlin!” she reached him and pulled him into a warm, loving embrace. “Merlin, at last!”

“Mother!”

Hunith pulled away after a few moments and took his face in her hands, wanting to get a good look at him. “Oh you’ve grown so. Look how handsome you are now! And your clothes are so fine!”

He laughed at that, suddenly bashful and there was the boy that she knew, pushing aside compliments and looking awkwardly away. Trying to, anyway, as she kept holding him. Still her son, still the same person. That was good. She’d been afraid that he would be changed and if she ever saw him again he would have become like that cold blonde sorcerer who had led the team that captured him.

“Tell me about yourself. You must be doing so well to afford clothes like this!” Hunith looked down and saw the cuffs were no longer binding his wrists and restraining his magic. “And they let you have your magic back. That was so cruel.”

“It’s a long story, but yes things are good now. And I brought someone with me,” Merlin told her, inclining his head towards something behind her.

It would be the other dragon rider. The one on Kilgharrah. Hunith didn’t really want to spoil the special moment with her son by seeing whoever it was that had replaced her love on that crotchety old dragon. Turning would be like a final, absolute acceptance that he was gone. Though her dear boy having dragonlord powers proved it just as well.

“Hello, Hunith.”

She knew that voice. Hunith gazed at Merlin, not quite able to believe it, but he was smiling and nodding to her. Slowly she turned to look behind her and see Balinor standing there, watching her hopefully with his dark, mournful eyes.

“Balinor!”

He shrugged, looking away for a moment, then back. Still a little shy then, like he was at the beginning. She thought they were long past that. But then it had been so many years. And they were both older. Self-consciously she touched her hair. It was dirty, all bound up in cloth and hidden. Personal appearance hadn’t been important for a long time. She wished she’d known he was coming, she would have made an effort. Too late now.

“You did a fine job, raising our boy,” Balinor told her. “He’ll make us both proud.”

“I’ve always been proud of him,” Hunith replied. “Always will be.”

Of course he had aged too, but he still looked good. He was well-off too, he wore clothes made from a fine cloth just like Merlin’s. And he was still handsome, those dark eyes that she’d always loved, the dark hair that Merlin had inherited. He probably had a wife and many other children. But her Merlin was the eldest. He would be the one to take on the dragonlord mantle after Balinor.

“It’s good to see you,” Balinor told her. “Still so beautiful.”

Well that was a lie, she thought. She looked a mess. There was mud on her shoes and Matthew’s baby granddaughter had been sick on her dress when Hunith had been holding her earlier. It hadn’t completely come out and she’d intended washing it in the stream tomorrow.

“Liar. I look dreadful.”

“Not to me.” He took a hesitant step forward, waited a moment then reached to kiss her hand. His eyes never left her.

Silly old fool. As if that was going to work. Hunith tried to think of something clever to say. It was easy enough usually, when some foolish man decided that the widow with her own cottage was a good catch and would be grateful for his attention.

Behind them she was aware that most of the villagers were watching them. From a safe distance of course, although Matthew and one or two of the other villagers who had been around when Balinor had lived there looked as if they wanted to approach. She wasn’t sure what to do.

“Why are you here?” she asked finally. It wasn’t witty or clever, but she needed to know.

It was her Merlin who answered, moving to stand beside his father. Ah, the sight of them together was enough to make her heart burst with love.

“We’re here for you of course, Mother.” He glanced at Balinor, who nodded.

“We want you to come home with us, Hunith,” Balinor told her. “I have a house, you could have your own rooms.”

“It’s _huge_!” Merlin interrupted. “You should see it, Mother!”

“Cenred compensates the dragonlords well for staying on his side,” Balinor explained. “Oh, Gaius is living with us. You remember Gaius?”

“Yes…” She remembered Gaius, he was a dear friend after all. But that still wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Her own rooms, a vast house, none of that mattered to her. “Would your wife not object to me being there?”

Kilgharrah made an exasperated sound and laid his head down on the grass as if he were about to fall asleep. The awful old grump obviously hadn’t changed one bit.

“There’s no wife, Hunith,” Balinor told her. He was still holding her hand and she felt his fingers press tighter in hers. “There’s only ever been one woman for me. Still is. But if that’s not what you want then still come back with us. We could be a proper family, the three of us. Or you could just be with our son, living your own life in a comfortable house. At least come and stay for a while before you decide.”

Merlin was grinning at her from ear to ear, obviously desperate for her to agree. And it was no choice, really. She didn’t think she could bear to be parted from him again so soon.

“A few weeks then,” she allowed. “I need to be back for the harvest.”

She didn’t. She didn’t need to be back at all, although there were friends in the village that she would hate to never see again.

Merlin gave a little whoop of delight, then immediately rushed off to see old friends of his own. She could hear him calling to Matthew and his wife. Knowing Merlin’s aptitude for talking he would be gone for some time.

“I’ve missed him so much,” she admitted to Balinor. “I don’t know how you two found each other, but I’m so glad you brought him back to me.”

“I’m glad too,” Balinor told her. “I didn’t know that I had a son, so I didn’t know to miss him. But I missed you. Very much. Every single day.”

And that was what she wanted to hear. Not about the house or the rooms or the comfort or anything. He’d always been a bit hopeless about anything romantic. Apart from the sex. That had always been great.

“And I you,” she admitted. “Always.”

The silly old fool hadn’t forgotten how to kiss, anyway.

\---


	7. Chapter 7

There were some elements of being a gladiator that Arthur didn’t mind. Training with his knights, as he had started to think of his group of friends there, was one of those elements. His friendship with them and the camaraderie that was rapidly building up between the group was another. Gwaine insisted on jokingly referring to Arthur as ‘Princess’, but the others all made it very clear that if they had a choice then they’d be fighting for him and for Camelot, not for Cenred.

Except they wouldn’t because Arthur would never have created an institution as cruel and wrong as the arena.

Training was something that took up most of their days, it seemed. It was something to do, and by the end of the first day Arthur and Leon had already more or less taken over from the clueless George and were teaching the others better ways to fight. Some stuck with George, unwisely supposing that he would know best how to keep them alive. But the rest began to increasingly take their lead from Arthur.

It reminded him of his life at Camelot. Although they would have been practicing on a green field with the air fresh and sweet. The arena always had a rotten stench about it, even a few days after the games. Partly it was the animals that were kept nearby, but mostly it was the fact that the place was never fully cleaned and there was always the smell of something decomposing.

On arena day this was covered with burning incense and fragrant oils, but the rest of the time it was pretty unpleasant. Arthur didn’t know how the others had stuck it for so long. Though they, like him, had no choice in the matter.

Gwaine, Elyan and Lancelot were all excellent swordsmen. Percival too, far better with a sword than he had been with the net and trident. Whoever had taught them all knew their stuff. It wasn’t George, that was for sure. There was nothing instinctive about the way that man fought. Arthur wondered if he’d ever been in a genuine swordfight in his life or whether it had all been practiced show fights.

Unfortunately Mordred was one of those who took an interest in what Arthur and Leon were doing. He stood watching them for a while, and then joined them. He didn’t ask if they minded, just took up his sword and joined in. Quite a few of the others had done the same, so Arthur could hardly protest. But he felt that Mordred already knew how to fight and was probably just watching them to pick up tips in case he ever had to defeat them. Mostly he was watching Arthur. Mordred would fight Leon, or Gwaine. Never Arthur. There could be many reasons but Arthur suspected that Mordred just didn’t want Arthur to be familiar with his fighting style. Arthur of course was showing everyone his own style, giving them all tips on how to stay alive.

At the end of the third day as they were all heading back inside, tired and hungry, Arthur was surprised to find Mordred at his side. The man had spoken very little, and almost never to Arthur. It all added to Mordred’s slightly creepy air.

“That was a good session today,” Mordred told him. “You have an interesting style.”

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure whether that was a complement or not. It could be anything. “Just trying to stay alive,” he replied as briefly as he could.

“As are we all.”

“You fight well,” Arthur conceded. “I was watching you with Lancelot.”

“Thank you. You do realise that at some point we’ll all be set against each other? Sharing your skills isn’t particularly wise. Why do you do that?”

“It’s what I’ve always done,” Arthur replied. The corridor they were walking down was taking them under the arena again. It was dimly-lit by torches. He really wanted to turn around and go back out into the fading sunlight. “I like to keep my men alive.”

Mordred gave a little snort of disdain at that. “Your men? I thought Camelot was no more? You’re prince of nothing!”

“He’s the rightful king,” Gwaine of all people pointed out, pushing between them and slinging a friendly arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “And if you don’t like it, druid boy, you go train with George. We don’t want you.”

“Stupid drunk,” Mordred muttered, but he fell back, leaving Arthur and Gwaine to walk on together. When they reached the dining area Mordred went off in a different direction, grabbing some food then going to sit by himself on the other side of the room.

“Watch out for that one, my friend,” Gwaine warned once Mordred was out of earshot. “Funny how he’s suddenly appeared here this week. And see those cuffs on his wrist? Supposed to be a bound sorcerer? Ellie reckons she saw him using magic when he thought nobody was around. He sent something out of here, she said it looked like a firefly or something. If he’s sending messages out, and his magic’s not really bound then there’s not much doubt about why he’s here.”

“He’s spying on us,” Arthur sighed.

“On _you_, my friend. The rest of us are of no interest. He’ll be Cenred’s eyes down here, I’d bet on it if I was a gambling man.”

“You _are_ a gambling man, Gwaine!”

“Ah, so I am!” Gwaine picked up a dish and started loading it up with food from the table. “And good at it too. Wise! So you should listen!”

Arthur took a plate of his own and followed Gwaine. He didn’t want to think that his friend was right. But when he glanced over at Mordred he could see the man was watching him again with that cold, unnerving gaze.

What was it that Elyan had said? _It doesn’t matter how good we are at fighting with swords. One powerful sorcerer and we’d all be dead in the blink of an eye._

Arthur didn’t know how powerful Mordred was but he knew one thing for sure – Elyan was right.

He took his food and followed Gwaine, keeping as far from Mordred as possible.

\---

Appearances were everything.

Merlin had never realised before quite what a difference good clothes made. Before, when he’d visited the arena in his ragged shirts, magical restraints clearly in place on his wrists, nobody had taken much notice of him. He had just been a faceless slave, a nobody, ignored for the most part.

“Sir!” The guard on the main gate stood to attention as Merlin had approached. Merlin had briefly paused and looked around, wondering who the man was speaking to. Almost every day for the past three years Merlin had walked through those gates with barely ever the slightest acknowledgement.

Of course, he’d never walked through in tailored clothing with a small white dragon on his back before.

Aithusa was impossible to leave behind. She followed Merlin everywhere. Mostly she liked to half-walk, half-fly along with him, but if he went any distance then Balinor had advised he should take the basket unless he wanted to end up carrying Aithusa in his arms.

Aithusa was definitely getting heavier. She probably only weighed a few pounds at the moment but she was growing rapidly. Soon enough she would have to walk or fly if she wanted to follow him because she would get far too heavy to carry. He had the feeling that she wouldn’t be too pleased when that happened. Aithusa liked to have a fuss made of her.

And so when Merlin approached the arena he had a small dragon peeping out of the top of her basket and looking over his shoulder at the world. The news that Lord Balinor had a son and heir had obviously got around. Several people nodded to him in the streets and one even called him Lord Merlin. That would take some considerable getting used to, he thought. Still, it could be useful.

“I’m here to see Cedric Sigan,” Merlin told the guard. “Is he here?”

The guard stared at Aithusa for a moment, then back at Merlin. Merlin could feel Aithusa moving around in the basket and hoped that she wasn’t about to misbehave.

“Think I saw him earlier down at the gladiator school,” the guard told him. “You could try there.”

And just like that Merlin was in. He wasn’t surprised, he knew that the security there was non-existent. And they would be down a couple of guards if Cenred really had dismissed Dagr and Ebor like Balinor had asked.

Nobody recognised him.

Merlin walked all the way round to the training ground for Cedric’s gladiators and not once person acted as if they knew him. Some of them were guards whom he had briefly spoken with in the past. Others were servants who, although he wouldn’t consider friends, he’d thought he was on good terms with. The servants simply bowed their heads as they passed. He wondered if he would see Ellie there, and whether she would do the same.

Cedric was at the school, just as the guard had said. He wasn’t fighting of course, just sitting out on a small balcony above the training ground, watching the gladiators fight.

Merlin’s gaze was immediately drawn to Arthur. Arthur was practicing with Elyan and Lancelot, the three of them repeating the same swing of the sword over and over. They didn’t look up to the balcony once. But then it was highly unlikely that they would have expected to see a friend there.

Arthur with a sword was a thing of beauty. He wielded it as if it were an extension of himself, graceful and deadly at the same time. Merlin had heard what a great swordsman Arthur had been and could well see that for himself.

“And who might you be?” Cedric asked as Merlin approached. “I should charge you for watching my gladiators, you know?”

Cedric had been in Merlin’s vicinity many times. When Edwin had brought Merlin in the first time and arranged a fee Cedric had even looked at him. There wasn’t a hint of recognition. Merlin was sure he didn’t look that different. It was just that as a slave he was invisible.

“I’m Merlin, Lord Balinor’s son,” Merlin stuck his hand out, then realised too late that he probably should have aimed at being a little more aloof. He wanted to bargain with Cedric after all.

Cedric immediately looked more interested. He shook Merlin’s hand, then gestured to the empty seat beside him.

“I heard Balinor found an heir. Welcome, Merlin, take a seat. Wine?”

Merlin accepted a goblet, though he’d never tried wine before. He took a sip, tried not to screw his face up as the stuff was quite sour, and put the goblet down. Unstrapping the basket, he set that on the floor in front of him then sat. Cedric and Aithusa eyed each other suspiciously.

“So what brings you and your little dragon to the arena?” Cedric asked. “Are you after good seats for the games or something?”

“I hear you’re looking for a new healer,” Merlin told him, going straight to the point. “Didn’t you have Edwin Muir working for you?”

Cedric gave Merlin an appraising look. “You’re quick to step into a dead man’s shoes. Especially as it was your father who killed him by all accounts.”

Merlin ignored that last part. “I want to earn my keep. People will say that I’m just living off my rich father otherwise. I want a job. I’m a good healer, it was what I did before. And I have magic.” Merlin picked up the goblet and transformed it into a far more palatable tankard of mead. “You wouldn’t lose so many of your men if you had a sorcerer healing them. And they’ll be ready to fight sooner. Think of how much money you’ll save.”

“I’m thinking about how much money _you’ll_ charge,” Cedric commented, picking up the tankard and looking at it carefully. “What are you asking? Not that I’m necessarily interested. I found a new physician this morning.”

“With magic?” Merlin asked. “Just think, if you didn’t have to keep buying new gladiators and training them up, your school would stand a better chance. The gladiators would live longer, they’d have more chance to train, they’d improve their skills. Yours could be the champion school.”

“How much?” Cedric asked again, but Merlin could tell that he was very interested.

“Twenty gold pieces a week.”

“That’s double what Edwin was getting! Ten!” Cedric counter-offered.

“Fifteen,” Merlin insisted. “You’re getting a sorcerer, not a slave.”

“It’s too much,” Cedric protested, but without conviction. “Twelve.”

“I could go to one of the other schools and offer my services instead?” Merlin continued. “I’m sure one of them would be interested. You could have their cheaper physician instead as they’ll be looking for a new position.”

“Fourteen,” Cedric offered.

“Done.”

Cedric didn’t look too unhappy. Merlin suspected he should have started higher and got more. But the money wasn’t really what he was after.

Down on the training ground, Arthur and Lancelot had started a practice fight. Merlin sat back and let Aithusa jump up onto his lap while he watched.

He hoped Arthur liked dragons.

\---

Leon was sitting with Galahad in the dormitory that they all shared. Arthur immediately went over to the pair of them. Leon had brought food for Galahad, who was still having trouble walking on his injured leg.

“Any better today?” Arthur asked. He could see from Galahad’s pallor what the answer was going to be. With the loss of Merlin they had no medical help at all. None of the other physicians were interested in looking after a badly injured new gladiator who was unlikely to survive his next fight in the arena. Assuming he even lived long enough to fight again.

“A little,” Galahad told him.

Arthur watched the way that Galahad’s hand shook whenever he used it to pick up food. He was fairly sure that wasn’t happening the day before. But then the pain-dampening potion that Merlin had left them was all gone. Arthur and Leon sat with him for a while, until Galahad announced that he was tired and they left him to rest.

“He needs a physician,” Leon whispered once they had moved away from Galahad. “He’s getting an infection. Is there no chance of Merlin coming back?”

Arthur had seen no sign of Dagr and Ebor that day. It was possible that they had a day off or something, although there was a rumour that they’d been dismissed by the king himself. That certainly wouldn’t have been anything to do with their mistreatment of a poor slave boy, but it was a good thing nonetheless.

One single thing that Cenred had got right. If it was true and they weren’t just off somewhere else. If they were gone then perhaps Merlin would return. But he would have no way of knowing that it was safe again.

Arthur sat down miserably on the edge of his bed. He really wanted to see Merlin again. But more importantly, one of his friends was probably dying and there was nothing any of them could do to help him.

Outside their room he heard someone give a startled shriek. He looked up, and saw a small white creature run into the room. It was immediately hidden from view by Percival, who had been lying on his own bed but rolled onto his side and leaned over the edge of the bed. A moment later he was holding up a small white reptile.

“It’s a dragon!” Percival exclaimed delightedly. “A baby dragon! Look!”

The man who’d taken Gaius away had a white baby dragon. He’d helped Gaius, Merlin had said. If he’d returned then perhaps he would help Galahad too? Arthur got to his feet, meaning to go and look. But then the dragon’s owner appeared in the doorway.

“I’m sorry! I was trying to stop her stealing food!”

“Merlin!”

Arthur wasn’t sure which of them said it first. Elyan, Gwaine, Leon, Lancelot or himself. It wasn’t Percival, he was too busy playing with the little dragon and probably didn’t know Merlin anyway.

Arthur hung back a little while the others greeted their friend. Merlin was dressed quite differently to how he had been on his previous visits. The old, ragged clothes were gone and in their place was a new blue shirt and tan breeches, a tailored jacket in what looked like leather, and new boots. Merlin was grinning from ear to ear as Gwaine, Elyan and Lancelot all hugged him.

“Did you win a bet or something?” Gwaine asked. “What’s with the fine clothes, my friend?”

“And the baby dragon,” Lancelot added. “That’s new.”

“Never mind that,” Leon put in. “Merlin, have you got any more of that potion you gave Galahad? He’s not doing well. Can you help him?”

Merlin was immediately serious, following Leon across to Galahad’s bed. He glanced over at Arthur and raised a hand in greeting. Arthur did the same back but didn’t speak. Something had obviously happened to Merlin, and Arthur wanted to know the reason for his transformation. But first Merlin needed to save Galahad before Cedric noticed how ill he was and decided it wasn’t worth keeping Galahad alive any longer. There could be no distractions from that.

“I’m your new physician,” Merlin told them all as he leaned over Galahad, getting the young knight to lie back so that he could examine him.

“You look a bit like the old one,” Elyan pointed out.

“Apart from the clothes and the dragon,” Gwaine added.

“And the magic restraints,” Arthur said, suddenly realising what else was different. “Merlin, you’ve got your magic back!”

“It’s a long story,” Merlin told them. He looked around, saw Percival, and beckoned him over. “Hello, I’m Merlin, I don’t think we’ve met. Can I have my dragon back please?”

Percival looked a little reluctant to give the dragon up, but did so. “Percival. I’ve heard about you from these guys. They’ve all been missing you.”

“It’s a lie,” Arthur told Merlin, standing on the opposite side of Galahad’s bed. Galahad wasn’t overly responsive, getting worse before their eyes.

“I didn’t miss you either,” Merlin told him without looking up. Merlin had sat the little dragon on the edge of Galahad’s bed and was examining Galahad’s arm. The stitches looked red and inflamed. Some were starting to ooze.

“This is going to take more than a potion,” Merlin sighed. “I’ve only just started learning. I could go home and ask Finna to teach me the exact spell but that will take time.”

Arthur knew what Merlin was really saying. Galahad didn’t have that much time. “Just try. Whatever you can to help.”

Merlin nodded, and held his hands out over Galahad’s arm. As Arthur watched, Merlin’s eyes glowed molten gold. That was his magic, the terrible thing that Arthur’s father had always drummed into him that they should drive out of the world. Until the end, when he seemed to have changed his mind.

Merlin looked like some ethereal being with his eyes glowing. Arthur watched, fascinated. But the gold faded from Merlin’s eyes, and the young sorcerer looked downcast.

“It didn’t work.”

“Can’t you use herbs? Potions?” Leon asked. “Gaius always used potions to cure fever.”

“I’ll try again,” Merlin offered. Once again his eyes glowed. At first it seemed that nothing was happening. And then the small dragon jumped up and breathed over Galahad’s arm. Arthur watched, amazed, as the angry red colour faded and Galahad’s skin began to heal in front of his very eyes.

“That’s amazing!” Percival breathed.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Leon added. “What did it do?”

Galahad was already looking better. They would need to look at his leg as well, but the immediate danger seemed to have passed. He looked up at Merlin with far more clarity than he had only moments earlier.

“Merlin?”

“I’m back,” Merlin confirmed. “And this is Aithusa, _she_” – he glanced at Leon pointedly – “just healed you.”

Galahad looked to Leon for confirmation. Arthur didn’t really blame him, it was quite a surprising development. But that little dragon was quite a miracle worker. She was hopping around, looking at them all. He made a decision, against everything he’d ever been taught, and held out his hands to her. She hadn’t bitten Percival. And wasn’t some gigantic monster. Not yet.

“Welcome, Aithusa.”

Aithusa liked making friends, that was clear. She sprang up from the bed and Arthur found himself with an armful of baby dragon. Aithusa was chattering happily to him though Arthur had no clue what she might be saying.

“She liked your sister too,” Merlin told him. Arthur almost dropped Aithusa in surprise.

“You’ve seen Morgana? How is she?”

“And Gwen?” Lancelot and Elyan asked almost simultaneously. “Was she with her?”

“How did you get to see her?” Leon asked.

“Merlin,” Gwaine scratched his head, clearly puzzled, and sat down on the nearest bed. “Perhaps you’d better start from the beginning.”

Merlin gestured to Galahad. “I need to look after my patient. But afterwards, yes, there’s a lot to tell.”

“Why have you got a dragon?” Arthur asked. “It’s the one that the dragonlord brought in, isn’t it? The one who took Gaius?”

“Yes,” Merlin almost looked embarrassed. “That’s the one.”

“And he’s employed you?” Gwaine asked.

“Not exactly,” Merlin replied. “It turns out he’s my father. I’m… um… a dragonlord. Or I will be.”

Arthur hadn’t thought anything could shock Gwaine into silence. He was wrong.

\---

It was interesting, Merlin thought, the difference between those who recognised him and those who didn’t. Almost without exception the gladiators knew him, and those exceptions were people who had come in new since Merlin had last been there. The servants mostly knew him as well. Nobody else recognised him at all.

If Dagr and Ebor had been there Merlin suspected that they wouldn’t have known him either. Perhaps Valiant might have done because Merlin had patched him up a few times after fights. Merlin wasn’t going to look him up to find out though. He half-wished he’d left the man to bleed to death.

As Merlin moved through the dorms of Cedric’s school, dealing with any injured fighters that he found, Arthur accompanied him. Arthur claimed this was to stop Merlin getting into any trouble, but it actually seemed to be an excuse to carry Aithusa around. Some of his fellow gladiators came from kingdoms that revered dragons and the sight of Arthur with a baby one in his arms drew them to him. Merlin hadn’t realised quite how much some of the other gladiators had mistrusted the people from Camelot. Cenred had conquered so many different kingdoms and never concerned himself with how the different people might live together. It was the way of a poor king, only interested in himself and the growth of his own kingdom. After all, anyone who caused trouble would end up in the arena and that would be the end of them.

Seeing Arthur with the dragon, and also seeing him walking around companionably with a freed sorcerer that they all knew and trusted, changed attitudes. It went against what they would have been told about Camelot and the Pendragon family. A cynical part of Merlin wondered if Arthur had done it deliberately, expecting that reaction. But Arthur had looked quite surprised at the sudden friendliness from people who Merlin had noticed giving him a wide berth in the training school earlier.

Perhaps the arena would be where he would build up support and form an army of strong men willing to overthrow Cenred? Few down there had any loyalty or liking for that king. But even if they all joined Arthur Merlin still struggled to see how Kilgharrah’s prophecies could possibly come to pass. There were just too few of them. And Merlin himself had been separated from his magic for so long that he was having to relearn things that he was sure he had been able to do before. He was learning fast, especially with his new-found dragonlord family to help him, but he knew he was no match for someone like Morgause. Perhaps in a few years. But Arthur didn’t have a few years. Sooner, rather than later, Cenred was certain to ensure that Arthur was killed in the arena.

In the final dormitory there were only four people. The rest of the beds appeared unoccupied. Merlin didn’t know any of them, but one definitely knew Arthur. He was a pale, dark-haired man whose eyes were on them from the moment they entered the room. Merlin had seen him earlier training with the others. He’d been with Arthur’s group although there had been something off about him. There hadn’t been the same camaraderie with him that there had been between the rest of the group. He didn’t seem particularly friendly with his roommates either.

“I’m Merlin, the physician Cedric’s just hired,” Merlin introduced himself to them all. They all just looked at him. It was a stark contrast to all the other dorms, but then he was known in those. The silence was quite uncomfortable. “You’re all looking very healthy so I’ll just go,” Merlin said quickly, turning to leave and almost bumping into Arthur and Aithusa. Arthur hadn’t stuck that close to him in the other dorms and Merlin hadn’t expected him to be right there.

“What’s a sorcerer doing down here?” the dark-haired man got to his feet and took a step towards them.

Arthur immediately stood in front of Merlin, handing over the little dragon to Merlin as he did so.

“Merlin’s here to help us, Mordred,” Arthur told the man. “You might be glad of that one day.”

“Cedric hired me,” Merlin explained. “I’m just coming round and introducing myself, checking nobody needs any medical help.”

Mordred wore magic restraints on his wrists. Merlin wondered if perhaps he was envious of the lack of restraints on Merlin’s wrists. That would have been understandable. Merlin had been envious himself of anyone with magic before his own restraints came off.

“We don’t.” Mordred told him.

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur turned and hustled him out into the corridor beyond. “Don’t waste your time on that one.”

Merlin glanced back as they left and saw Mordred still glaring at them. He and Arthur obviously didn’t get along and Merlin wasn’t going to get in the middle of that.

“Where did he come from?” Merlin asked once they were outside and heading back to Arthur’s dorm. The corridor was quite empty and he knew he would have to leave soon before all the dorms were locked up.

“Cedric bought off his debts and now we’ve all got the pleasure of his company. I don’t trust him. And Gwaine says Elena… _Ellie_ thinks those magic restraints are fake.”

Merlin stopped dead, looking back at the now-closed door to the dorm. “Do you think he’s here to watch you or something?”

“He’s been doing nothing _but_ watching me,” Arthur confirmed. “I think I’ll find myself pitted against him in the arena at some point. If Ellie’s right about the magic then I’ve got a problem, haven’t I?”

There was no arguing it. Merlin gazed sadly at Arthur. “We need a plan. A way out of here.”

Arthur reached out and stroked Aithusa’s head fondly. The little dragon purred for a few moments, then struggled to be let out of Merlin’s grasp and elected to fly around their heads instead. Both men smiled up at her.

“You’ve already got a way out,” Arthur pointed out, moving closer and putting his arms around Merlin, drawing him close for a kiss. “Ah, I’ve missed you,” he breathed when they broke apart. “I didn’t know what had happened to you. When you didn’t come back… and I know you couldn’t because of Dagr and Ebor… not knowing was the worst thing. It’s so good to see you again.” Arthur leaned in for another kiss deeper this time. They stayed close when the kiss ended, foreheads leaning together. Merlin could feel Arthur’s warm breath on his face. He wanted to stay with Arthur forever, never move away. But they could both hear footsteps and had to stand further apart as two guards wandered past.

“Get back in your cell, Pendragon,” one of them called. “Locking up time.”

“I thought they called them dorms,” Arthur sighed as he and Merlin reluctantly headed back.

“When it suits them,” Merlin confirmed. “But they are what they are.”

“A glorified dungeon,” Arthur agreed. “And I do need to get free, fight for Camelot and Gawant, and all the others Cenred’s taken. But I have no idea how I can get out of this. Even if Leon, Galahad and I escaped the arena there’s still Morgana to think of. I can’t abandon her. You said the wedding is just over a week away? Gods, she must be terrified. And she’s all alone. I can’t even get a message to her.”

Above their heads, flying around happily, Aithusa chirruped at them. Merlin recalled how easily Aithusa had gone to Morgana and how quickly they seemed to have bonded. Aithusa was getting stronger all the time, yet was still so very small that she wouldn’t be noticed.

He smiled at Arthur. “I think I have an idea…”

\---

It was arena day.

Morgana had dreaded it, knowing that it was approaching. She knew that she would have to sit up there on the royal balcony watching people get killed in the name of sport. She knew that she would have to walk past the row of severed heads. Uther would have been up there for a week in the sun. It was going to be grim.

The single good thing was that Cenred wasn’t there. He was busy with his advisors listening to reports from scouts who had just come back from the north. There were still kingdoms to be conquered, rebels to be subdued. The kingdoms that he had already taken were not enough for Cenred.

The not so good thing was that Morgause had decided to accompany Morgana to the arena rather than let her preside over the games alone. It meant that Morgana would need to be more careful than she would have been had it only been herself and Gwen up there.

“I can do this alone you know,” Morgana told Morgause as they climbed up the rear staircase to reach the royal balcony. “I presided over many tournaments at Camelot. I’d say this wasn’t so different, although we didn’t slay half the participants.”

“Unless they were sorcerers,” Morgause pointed out smoothly. “Uther was always sure to kill any of those that he got his hands on. I don’t know why you’re staying loyal, sister. You could have a very good life here. And if you proved trustworthy then I could remove those restraints and you could learn to use your magic. You have the makings of a fine seer, and I could have taught you so much more. And it’s not too late.”

“Will you free my brother, too?” Morgana asked.

There was silence.

“No. I thought not.” Morgana continued up the steps. “And will he be fighting today?”

“Arthur Pendragon, along with many other criminals, is now a gladiator in the arena and his role is to provide entertainment to the people. It is payback for his cruelty to magic users.”

“Arthur is many things, but he’s not cruel,” Morgana snapped. “Nor are the knights of Camelot. They had rules of chivalry. Rules your people could learn from.”

“Sister, you would do well to learn to hold your tongue,” Morgause warned.

Morgana gave a bitter little huff of a laugh at that. “Why? You’re going to kill me soon enough anyway. Cenred was talking about feeding Gwen and I to the wyverns the other day.”

“Because if you don’t keep quiet I _will_ feed Gwen to the wyverns. And you’ll have a new maid whom I’ve chosen. I can see you’ve grown fond of Gwen.”

Morgause was right of course, Morgana realised. Her affection for the important people in her life would be her downfall. It was her weakness, and her strength.

Unwilling to engage further with Morgause, Morgana hurried up the rest of the steps and emerged onto the balcony, careful not to look to her right. There was a heavy smell of lemon and lavender in the air, and Morgana guessed that was to mask the putrid stench from the severed heads.

She walked to Cenred’s throne, forcing herself to wave and smile at the crowd as she went. They cheered her for the most part, although it wasn’t as enthusiastic as it had been for Cenred the previous week. It was the one thing that she could do – make the people love her. That would make her harder to kill.

Beside her, Gwen dutifully knelt and smoothed out Morgana’s skirts, ensuring that when she sat down they wouldn’t bunch up under her. Gwen would have to go, Morgana realised sadly. She loved having Gwen as her maid, but it was a dangerous position. Gwen’s brother was a gladiator and apparently close to winning his freedom. That could be the time, he could request his sister be released from service in front of the crowds and Cenred would find it hard to refuse. Especially if Morgana granted it before he could object.

The arena was full. Gwen had told her that people came from all over to watch the games on a Saturday. The crowd were probably only talking but there were so many of them that it rose up as a great noise.

Morgana raised her hands in the air. She couldn’t remember what Cenred had done the previous week. Everything about that day was a blur of horror and sadness. But it was how she had started tournaments when she was at Camelot. And as a princess of Camelot she was going to stick to her own land’s traditions.

The crowd quickly stilled, realising she was going to address them.

“My people…”

They weren’t her people. They were largely bloodthirsty scum who had laughed and gambled their way through countless murders the previous week. But if she wanted them on her side then she couldn’t show that. And some would be good people. Gwen lived in the city after all. Her father would be out there somewhere. Good people.

“… Today I have the honour of watching over these games with you. Essetir’s great arena is famed far and wide…”

As a place of horror and death.

“… and our gladiators are famed as brave and strong. I know you will be disappointed that your king is not here to enjoy the spectacle with you, but I hope that as your queen to be I will not be too poor a substitute. My dearest wish is that I can be a good queen to you all and that in time I will make you proud. Lord Kanen,” – she looked around for the hateful man who orchestrated the so-called games – “let the games begin!”

Kanen was on a slightly lower balcony adjacent to the royal one. He bowed to her, and then started announcing the first spectacle. It was a fight between a bull and a group of heavily armed men. No sport at all.

Morgana smiled, waved again, then sat down.

“Would you like refreshment, my lady?” Gwen asked. Morgana shook her head.

“Perhaps later. Thank you Gwen.”

“A pretty speech,” Morgause commented from her usual position to the right of Cenred’s throne. Morgana’s own small throne sat empty.

“Was it not satisfactory?” Morgana asked. “I thought I was supposed to be playing the loving queen to be?”

“It was everything it should be,” Morgause agreed. “Very unlike you.”

“Perhaps I’m learning?”

“Yes, perhaps you are,” Morgause told her. “Don’t be too clever. You’re to be the queen, the figurehead. Not clever.”

_You picked the wrong person,_ Morgana thought. If there was one thing she prided herself on being it was clever. But she didn’t say so. Instead she pretended to ignore what Morgause had said, and turned to Gwen with a smile. “Thank you, Gwen. I think I will have that drink after all.”

But she knew that she had to be careful. Morgause was clever too. They were sisters, after all.

\---

Merlin had never seen the games as a proper spectator.

As the paid physician to Cedric’s school he was permitted a seat in the owner’s box. Aithusa, as always, went with him. Even if Merlin had wanted to prevent Aithusa coming with him it was almost impossible not to have the little dragon following him around. On this particular occasion though, Merlin wanted her there.

Aithusa sat on his lap, looking around at the new surroundings with interest. She was getting better at staying put when she was told to. He wondered whether she would be as good at following simple instructions. Merlin wasn’t quite sure that his plan would work, but he was going to give it a try.

Down in the arena a very large and angry bull had managed to gore a couple of the men who were battling it. They were from another school, so Merlin had to stay where he was. Part of his agreement with Cedric was that he was only to aid those from Cedric’s school. It went against Merlin’s natural instincts as he would have preferred to help everyone, but having access to Arthur had to take priority.

None of it was very entertaining as far as Merlin could see. The poor bull was being tormented on all sides although it was doing a pretty good job of attacking back. There would be a good number of injured men from those who had taken part in the cruel sport. It wasn’t something that Merlin wanted to watch. In the stands all around he could see spectators gambling on the outcome – how many men would die, how many injured, how long would the bull survive for? It was grim. Merlin had known that gambling was widespread out there and that it was the main attraction of the arena, but as he had never actually been a spectator it was still all quite new to him.

“Not a gambling man?” Cedric asked as Merlin refused yet another bet from one of the people around him. “You’re in the wrong place!”

“I prefer to just watch,” Merlin replied. He was watching the royal balcony, just a little higher than theirs. Morgana was up there, Gwen at her side. The trouble was that Morgause was also up there and anything that he did would be seen by her as well.

“You seem to prefer to watch our new queen,” Cedric observed. “I don’t blame you, she’s very pleasant to watch. It would be a good thing to be king and wake up next to that every morning. And the Commander of Magic as well if the rumours are true! Our king is a fortunate man.”

Merlin smiled politely and nodded, glad when Cedric’s attention turned back to what was going on in the arena. Left to his own devices, Merlin bent over Aithusa to talk quietly to the little dragon. He wasn’t sure how much she understood but it did seem to be that the more he talked to her, the more she seemed to comprehend. Mostly it was simple words like food and fly but she was starting to obey very simple commands. And that was what he was counting on.

“Look, Aithusa, can you see Princess Morgana?” Merlin whispered, pointing up to the royal balcony. Aithusa chittered happily, fluttering her wings. “We like her, don’t we?”

Down in the arena, the grisly battle was almost over. Merlin didn’t look. It was sickening. That poor bull. Instead he concentrated on Aithusa, who was wriggling around, wanting to get free. Keeping a firm grip on her, Merlin took one of the flowers from the display at the front of the box. They were often used by enthusiastic spectators to fling down at victorious gladiators. Usually there weren’t many flowers left by the end of the day. He handed the flower to Aithusa who tried to peck at it then dropped it. Merlin tried again to get her to take it in her claw. This time Aithusa obeyed.

The fight was over. Morgana was on her feet talking to the crowd about the bravery of the arena warriors. It sounded a little false to Merlin, and from his reasonably close proximity he could see that Gwen was looking more than a little nauseated at her side.

Morgana was winning the crowd over though. Cenred usually didn’t acknowledge them that much. Morgana was making them feel that they were important to her. The applause and cheering at her speech was increasing each time she got up. Merlin supposed that by the end of the games that day she would have gained quite a lot of affection from her new people. She was looking around at the crowds (anywhere but at the bloodied arena floor really, Merlin thought) and her gaze suddenly fell on Merlin and Aithusa. He saw the exact moment that she spotted him because her smile widened and she raised a hand in greeting. It was Merlin’s perfect opportunity.

“Go to Morgana,” he whispered to Aithusa. “Give her the flower.” He tapped the flower now firmly held in Aithusa’s claw, and then pointed to Morgana. Morgana was still watching them, as fascinated with the little dragon as she had been a few days previously.

Praying it would work, Merlin let go of Aithusa.

For a moment Aithusa stayed on Merlin’s lap. But then Morgana waved to her, and the dragon leapt into the air and flew up to Morgana. It wasn’t too far, but the crowd had noticed and there was a great deal of oohing and aahing as the tiny dragon made her way over and dropped the flower on the floor at Morgana’s feet then landed in Morgana’s waiting arms.

Morgause immediately dived for the flower, no doubt fearing there would be a weapon or something concealed in it. Morgana stood petting Aithusa, much to the delight of the crowds. Merlin watched as she stroked Aithusa’s head, and hoped she would find the note tucked into Aithusa’s collar before Morgause finished pulling the flower apart.

A reply would of course be impossible, but Merlin just wanted to get a message to Morgana from Arthur. It was only a few words to let her know that he was alive and well and that she hadn’t been forgotten about.

Morgana was making a huge fuss of Aithusa, feeding her from a little plate that Gwen brought over and telling the crowd about the beautiful baby dragon and how fortunate they all were to have dragonlords watching over them. Morgause had failed to find anything in the flower and just sat watching her sister, clearly suspicious.

But the arena was almost cleared, and the gladiators would be on shortly. With what was clearly great reluctance, Morgana lifted Aithusa up and took her to the edge of the balcony. With one hand she pointed to Merlin, who held out a treat to the dragon.

Aithusa, who had probably never been so well-behaved, flew straight back down to him. Morgana waved triumphantly, and the crowd roared with delight. They obviously thought it was part of the show.

Merlin sat back down, feeling his way along Aithusa’s collar.

The note was gone.

\---

[ ](https://imgur.com/zlzaxSO)

Arthur watched from the gates with his friends as the games went on. He had already been sent out to battle an unimpressive fighter from one of the other schools. It had been an easy victory. If Morgana hadn’t been the one overseeing the event he supposed the other man wouldn’t have been allowed to live. Arthur had played to the crowd as much as he could, but it was hard when it was such a one-sided fight. Some of the other gladiators from the school had also already taken part in battles. A few had been victorious. Arthur had joined in with cheering them on but there were other matters to distract him.

Mostly Arthur watched Morgana, who seemed to be in her element presiding over the games. She was without exception allowing the defeated gladiators to live. And he watched Merlin too, for a while. Merlin had done exactly what he’d said – Aithusa had flown up to Morgana with the note. But if it had been attached to the flower that Aithusa had dropped then Morgana wouldn’t have seen it – Morgause had destroyed that.

Merlin had left his seat in the arena shortly after Aithusa’s flight. Arthur had worried for a while but then spotted Merlin heading up the tunnel behind them, Aithusa flying along beside him. Merlin hadn’t brought the basket as the little dragon appeared to no longer need it.

“Merlin!” Arthur jogged down to meet him halfway. Aithusa zoomed towards Arthur and flew in a happy circle around his head. She was getting bigger all the time. At her current rate it wouldn’t be many weeks before Merlin wouldn’t be able to bring her into the arena tunnels. Arthur would miss her.

Merlin was smiling, and there was nothing Arthur wanted to do more than greet him with the kind of kiss that told Merlin exactly how much Arthur loved and wanted him. But there were guards everywhere and he couldn’t put Merlin in that much danger. And Mordred was standing near the gates. Arthur didn’t trust him one bit and wasn’t going to endanger Merlin any further by letting Mordred see quite how close they were. Though Mordred couldn’t fail to have noticed that Arthur and Merlin were friends, Arthur wanted to keep the fact that they were more than that from him for as long as possible.

“Aithusa delivered,” Merlin whispered. “Morgana took the note, I’m sure of it.”

“Morgause destroyed the flower.”

Merlin nodded towards Aithusa. “Do you like her new collar? I’ve told her it’s what all the fashionable young dragons are wearing these days!”

Aithusa had a deep blue leather collar around her neck. Arthur hadn’t seen her wearing one before. It had to have been where Merlin hid the note.

“So what was that with Aithusa and the flower?” Arthur asked. “Are you trying to woo my sister?”

Merlin shrugged. “I think if I wanted to then there wouldn’t be a much better way than by sending her flowers via dragon. The flower was a distraction. She really likes Aithusa. Sadly I like her brother better.”

“Oh yes? And where are _my_ flowers, Merlin?” Arthur pouted.

“Aithusa ate them.”

“Hah! Funny.”

“Yes. And we can do it again, send another message once we have a plan.”

Merlin looked so eager and pleased with himself that Arthur didn’t have the heart to disagree or point out that Aithusa’s flight that day would have made Morgause suspicious. It would be a week before there was another opportunity to send a message. Plenty of time to warn of the dangers and make sure Merlin and Aithusa weren’t caught.

“Merlin!”

The gate was opening and Percival was coming back through it, having triumphed in his fight by the look of it. He was holding up one of the victory seals that signified a worthy champion and counted towards a gladiator’s chances of winning his freedom. Arthur doubted he’d ever receive one himself. Percival was bleeding from a few shallow cuts and waving Merlin over to patch him up.

“I met the princess! She’s beautiful!”

“Stop drooling,” Gwaine advised, slapping his friend on the back. “That’s Arthur’s sister, remember?”

Arthur followed Merlin back to the gate, laughing at Gwaine and Percival and only half-listening to Kanen’s announcement of the next competitors. But Galahad and Leon had been paying attention and rushed over to Arthur with news that immediately wiped the smile off his face.

“Arthur,” Leon hissed. “Did you hear? It’s Bedivere!”

“He must have been sold to a rival school,” Galahad added. “He’s alive!”

It was good news, in a way. Except any one of them could be called to fight him.

“Friend of yours?” Gwaine asked.

“A knight of Camelot,” Leon confirmed, never taking his eyes off the man in the arena. “We thought he was dead. Perhaps there are more in the other schools.”

“Percival said there wasn’t anyone from Camelot in his old school,” Gwaine reminded them. “And we know who Cedric bought as you’re all standing here. So that only leaves Helios. He tends to buy random individuals. He doesn’t like groups of friends. We wouldn’t even be allowed to speak to each other if he’d purchased us.”

“Mordred would have done well in place like that,” Galahad commented, looking across at the silent druid. Mordred was, of course, gazing at them. “Poor Bedivere. Perhaps he’ll lose and Helios will sell him?”

“Helios doesn’t sell people on,” Elyan put in. “That’s why I went to Cedric first. He’s all about profit, but he’s not actually cruel. You won’t get anyone going to Helios if they can help it. If you’re no good then you’ll end up either dead in the arena or wyvern fodder. Or both.”

Arthur looked out to the arena floor, where Bedivere was standing ready to fight. His opponent had yet to be called. Bedivere was doing nothing to win the early support of the crowd, just standing there waiting. Kanen had already turned them against him for coming from Camelot. With nobody to help and advise him, and not being a natural showman, Bedivere would be facing both his opponent and the crowd.

Kanen was talking to the crowd again. They were almost magically silent whenever he spoke. But there was no sorcery involved. Gambling on the outcome of the fights was rife throughout the arena. It was why most people went along to the event and why it was so popular. With new gladiators, the only clue that most spectators would have was from Kanen’s speech. They hung on his every word.

“…a new gladiator from Cedric Sigan’s school! A proud Druid who showed his loyalty by training as a soldier in our great king’s army…”

“Oh no…” Leon breathed.

They didn’t need Kanen to say any more. Mordred had moved over to stand directly behind the gate. He was carrying a sword that looked far more polished and expensive than any of the gladiators normally used.

Mordred glanced back, as if he could feel them all watching him.

“I brought my own,” he told them smugly. “Part of my contract.”

And then the gates opened and Mordred walked through them to a massive cheer from the crowd. He raised his sword in greeting, trying to acknowledge them all.

“They wouldn’t like him so much if they knew what a miserable git he is,” Gwaine muttered.

“We’ve armed him,” Arthur realised. “He’s been watching us train. He’ll know how Bedivere is likely to fight.”

“You couldn’t know,” Lancelot tried to reassure him. “There was no reason to suppose you three weren’t the last surviving Camelot knights. Bedivere didn’t fight last week so you didn’t see him.”

All of them stood at the gate, watching.

Arthur knew that Morgana would recognise Bedivere as well. She would want him to live, of course, but it didn’t sound as if being saved in the arena if he lost was his best option. Arthur wasn’t sure how the betting on the wyverns worked, but he knew that was why it was so popular. Perhaps it was which one ate the victim first? Helios would doubtless earn money from a failed gladiator by putting them in there. Horrific.

The fight started. Bedivere was good, of course. He had always been one of the better knights, and Arthur knew that was why Uther had put him in the group that had been taking Morgana and himself away from Camelot when Cenred’s sorcerers had attacked. But Mordred was also good. He was agile and sneaky and had no qualms about striking a man in the back.

“He just used magic.”

Arthur looked around and found Merlin at his side, watching the fight with grim interest.

“Ellie was right,” Gwaine murmured. “I knew it.”

Bedivere suddenly tripped and fell to his knees. There was no apparent reason for it and had to be Mordred’s magic again.

“Clumsy!” Kanen yelled, and the crowd roared. “Small wonder Camelot was defeated so easily!”

It was as if where Morgana had come from didn’t matter, even though the crowd appeared to like her. Arthur could see her up on her throne, cold and still like she had been when Uther was killed. He had no doubt that she would be held in place by Morgause’s magic again, unable to react. A forced public face. Her position was worse than his, he knew. At least he was with friends.

Bedivere had managed to get back up and was fighting back, but he kept stumbling and almost going over again. It was grossly unfair. Arthur actually saw Mordred’s eyes flash gold at one point. If he could see it then doubtless the audience could as well. They didn’t appear to care.

Soon enough the fight reached its inevitable conclusion. There was no chance of Bedivere being spared – he was knocked flat on his back and Mordred drove his sword into Bedivere’s exposed chest. Leon and Galahad bowed their heads in respect to their fallen comrade. But Arthur kept watching, trying to learn everything he could about Mordred’s behaviour. Just one weakness would be all it took. He was a good fighter but not a great one. A fight would probably have to be won quickly before he started to use his magic.

“Sorry mate,” Gwaine put his hand briefly on Arthur’s shoulder. “Nothing you could have done.”

“Pendragon! You other two from Camelot, come here.”

Arthur looked around to find Cedric striding towards him, gesturing for Arthur, Leon and Galahad to come back down the corridor with him.

“What does he want?” Leon grumbled as they obeyed. Merlin started to follow as well but Cedric shooed him away.

“Not you, physician. Your role is here in case we have any wounded,” Cedric ordered.

Arthur wondered where they were going. The arena was behind them. But there was the elevator contraption that was underneath the arena floor and which opened up right in the centre of the place. If the three of them were going on that day then perhaps they were going to enter that way. It was popular for the bigger fights.

Instead they found themselves back down in the living quarters.

“You’re not fighting again today,” Cedric told them. “But I know the man Mordred just killed was one of your own. That’s what happens here. People die. They only die out in the arena though, so if any of you are thinking about taking revenge you can forget about it right now.”

“He used magic,” Galahad complained. “It wasn’t a fair fight!”

Cedric actually laughed at that. “We don’t have fair fights here, boy! Tell me you haven’t failed to notice that?”

“We have,” Leon told him bitterly. “It wouldn’t be like that in Camelot.”

“Camelot is a dead kingdom,” Cedric told him. “And if you want to survive then I suggest you forget about it and concentrate on living. There’s a rule here – you don’t kill other gladiators in the training school. Ever. Do it and I'll sell you on to Helios. He’s already asked me if I’m willing to sell one of you now he’s lost his Camelot man.”

“And are you?” Arthur asked. He remembered what Elyan had said about Cedric being all about profit.

Cedric looked him over again in that blatantly appreciative way he had. It made Arthur’s skin crawl. “Not you, Arthur Pendragon. You’re far too profitable and ornamental. I would sooner keep all three of you. But I’ll give one up if I have to. Remember what I said – no revenge. Understood?”

“Understood,” Arthur said through gritted teeth.

“That’s good. Excellent. We all understand each other,” Cedric gazed for a moment at Arthur’s chest, still bare from his arena fight earlier. “Very good. And anyway you may well have your chance. Kanen wants to put on a special fight for the wedding celebrations next week. The people will be voting as they leave today for who they’d most like to see you fight as your tribute to your sister. A contribution from her family, you see. Mordred is current favourite in the early booking. You know how the people of Essetir love a good wager.”

Arthur knew. And Elyan’s words that kept haunting him came back yet again.

_It doesn’t matter how good we are at fighting with swords. One powerful sorcerer and we’d all be dead in the blink of an eye._

But Merlin had his magic back now. And he was firmly on Arthur’s side. Arthur just hoped that would be enough.

\---

Morgana had expected to find her day at the arena difficult, but Bedivere’s death hit her hard.

Until that point she had been able to spare almost every losing gladiator. Watching Arthur win so safely and easily had definitely been a high point. She had cheered him and thought that perhaps by doing so she had won him a little more of the crowd’s support. Morgause had stopped her when she had wanted to award him one of the royal victory seals.

“It was an easy win. We don’t award easy wins. Especially not to _him_.”

“You wouldn’t award him a seal even if he fought the hardest battle ever,” Morgana had replied. Morgause hadn’t denied it.

Then when the druid soldier had killed Bedivere, Morgause gave Morgana a little nudge.

“Stop snivelling over that traitor. Call Mordred up here for his reward. That was a good fight.”

Morgana’s eyes had welled with tears at Bedivere’s death, it was true. It meant she had a heart, she told herself. There was nothing wrong with being compassionate. Still, there was something a little odd.

“You know his name?”

“Kanen announced it. You should listen.”

Morgana had listened. Perhaps she had been distracted but she was sure that Kanen had been referring to Bedivere’s opponent mostly by his surname. Strange that Morgause had not. Unless she already knew him. Morgana stored that information, and did her best not to let Morgause see that she had noticed.

Mordred, when he climbed up to receive his seal, was smug and unlikeable. Not as bad as Valiant the previous week, but unpleasant nonetheless. Morgana carried out her duty, trying to smile and wave to the crowd as if nothing were amiss. She was glad when Mordred descended the steps again and was gone. There was something about him. She wished that she had her magic back. How she had hated it before, yet now she could see that the intuitions and visions that it gave her could be invaluable.

The games went on. It was almost tedious, one fight after another, interspersed with cruel battles with captured animals. Yet the crowds loved it.

Six gladiators came out at once, two from each school. Beside her, Morgana was aware that Gwen was suddenly paying attention.

“Your brother?” Morgana asked.

Gwen nodded, pointing to one of the pairs. “Elyan. He’s so close to winning his freedom, my lady.”

“Let’s hope he’s victorious today,” Morgana replied with feeling. She felt that she knew Elyan, Gwen spoke of him often.

There was no chance of Elyan not succeeding. It quickly became apparent that he and his partner were an extremely popular pairing in the arena, and well-known. The reason was obvious – they worked as a team, defending each other and fighting back to back. The other two pairs didn’t work with their partner at all. Soon enough Morgana found herself on her feet, cheering the winning duo and calling them up for their prize.

“What is the other one’s name?” she asked Gwen as the two men climbed the steps, ready to receive the favours that would add up to one day giving them their freedom. Sooner rather than later, she hoped, at least in the case of Gwen’s brother. That would be a good day. One single thing that she would be glad to do in her new role.

“That’s Gwaine. He’s good friends with my brother, and very popular with the crowd.”

Morgana could tell that from the cheering that he was getting. The crowd loved Gwaine. And Gwaine was lapping it up. Whilst Elyan stopped acknowledging the crowd once he was climbing the steps, Gwaine was turning and waving and blowing kisses all the way up.

She supposed that was clever, keeping them on side. If Gwaine ever lost a fight then the crowd would scream for their beloved to live. They were a shield and didn’t even know it.

Elyan arrived first, stepping onto the balcony then bowing to her deeply. When he straightened, she saw him glance behind her, exchanging a smile with his sister. It was a warm, open, honest smile and Morgana immediately liked him.

“Congratulations, Elyan,” Morgana told him. “You fought well. I was pleased to see that your opponent also survived.”

Elyan inclined his head again. “Thank you for allowing me to spare him, my queen. We prefer not to kill.”

“I’m not actually queen yet,” Morgana reminded him.

“It will be a proud day for our country when you are,” he assured her. He glanced at Gwen again, then back at Morgana. “My sister is very happy working for you.”

Morgana smiled back at Gwen, who was now looking embarrassed. “And I’m happy to have her with me. How very proud your father must be of you both.”

Elyan bowed his head again. “I hope so. I haven’t always make him proud, my lady.”

Gwen had told her about that. The debts, the reason why Elyan was forced to risk his life as a gladiator. She hoped for Gwen’s sake that Elyan was a free man again soon.

At that moment Gwaine finally reached the top of the steps. The contrast between the two gladiators was quite marked. Where Elyan had been polite and respectful, Gwaine was bouncing up and down, his back to Morgana, waving his arms and actually orchestrating the cheering. Quite the showman. And then, finally, he turned to face Morgana.

There was something very familiar about Gwaine. He bowed to her respectfully, keeping most of his face covered with a helmet that he must have picked up on the way up. He hadn’t worn it while he was fighting. Odd that he should put it on to greet her. There was no reason that she should ever have seen him before, he wasn’t one of the Camelot knights. Perhaps he was from another kingdom? But she’d never known a Gwaine, only a young man called Gawain many years before. And that young man (barely more than a boy really) and his family were long dead.

“My lady.”

The accent was definitely from the Caerleon area. But she’d never met any of Caerleon’s knights and by all accounts most of them were now either dead or had sworn allegiance to Cenred. Of course, there had been Gawain too, but that was from the previous kingdom and had to just be coincidence. He couldn’t possibly have survived.

“Remove your helmet,” she commanded.

He hesitated. So, perhaps he knew her as well. And then he removed the helmet and she saw him properly.

There was that lush dark hair, so much like his mother’s. And those dark eyes. Gawain after all. Son of Gruffydd and Morwenna, murdered king and queen of what was now Caerleon. Somehow he had escaped the massacre that had taken his family. Startled, Morgana opened her mouth to speak, but a tiny, brief shake of his head stopped her. He was hiding. That was how he had survived. She mustn’t do anything to change that. And he was down there with Arthur. It meant Arthur had a friend from way back. An ally at least as Arthur had probably been too young to remember much of Gawain and perhaps didn’t even realise who Gwaine really was.

“Congratulations, Gwaine,” Morgana told him, hiding her shock and being careful to use the new pronunciation. She had a thousand questions, but it wasn’t the time or the place to ask them. Not with Morgause standing there listening to every word. Gwaine’s father had been a well-liked king, far more than Caerleon or Cenred. As an obviously popular gladiator it wouldn’t take so very much for people to follow him. She would keep his secret. “You fought well, as did Elyan. I am pleased to meet you both today. I hope to see you both up here again. Perhaps I will see you win your freedom soon?”

“I hope so, my lady,” Gwaine replied. “It’s an honour to meet you. Your brother speaks of you often.”

“You are friends?” Morgana glanced nervously across at Morgause, who was watching them both like a hawk. There wasn’t the slightest hope of them not being overheard.

“I’m friends with everyone, my queen,” Gwaine told her with a cheeky wink.

She didn’t miss the quick flicker of his eyes towards Morgause, then away as he said it.

“Arthur is a fine fighter. I hope I never have to face him in the arena.”

“I hope so too. If you speak to him, please let him know that I am well and…”

“Enough!” Morgause stepped in sharply before Morgana could send any sort of message to Arthur no matter how harmless it would have been. “The crowd will grow impatient. Gift them the seals, then we can move on to the next entertainment.”

Morgana did as she was bid. She knew from experience that if she didn’t then Morgause’s powerful magic would simply compel her to obey. And it was no hardship to take the two seals and hand them over to Gwaine and Elyan, who then held them aloft triumphantly and marched back down to the arena.

In the arena the final show was being set up even as they descended. Wyverns, by the look of the large cages that were being erected. There had been no new kingdom conquered so she supposed this time it would be criminals that were put in to fight as best they could. How that passed as entertainment was beyond her. Camelot’s tournaments had been fair and honourable. She longed for those days.

“Elyan only needs three more seals,” Gwen whispered. “I hope he makes it.”

Morgana nodded, fingering the tiny roll of paper that she had retrieved from Aithusa’s collar and not yet had the chance to look at because Morgause was watching her like a hawk. She hoped Gwaine made it too. And Arthur. Always Arthur.

\---


	8. Chapter 8

It was late by the time Merlin got home and settled his horse in her stable. He was tired and wanted his bed but there were things to do. Aithusa needed feeding for one thing. She’d been eating snacks all day but he was supposed to be providing her with a proper meal. Merlin went through the back door and hung up his cloak. He had his own now. It fitted him better than his father’s cast-offs. Aithusa chittered at him loudly, impatient for her dinner. There was no chance of coming home secretly with Aithusa around.

_“Merlin!”_

His father sounded angry. Merlin could guess why.

It was no use trying to sneak up to his room because Balinor had already spotted him, and anyway Aithusa was flying around his head crying for food.

“Hello Father,” Merlin poked his head round the door to the dining hall, seeing both his parents sitting in there. It looked as if he might have missed dinner, which was a shame as he was quite hungry and Rose was turning out to be an amazingly good cook. “Hello Mother. I’m just going to feed Aithusa, she’s hungry.”

“In here. Now.”

Reluctantly, Merlin went in. Balinor looked furious, all furrowed eyebrows and dark glares. Hunith didn’t look particularly pleased either.

“It’s good to see that Aithusa hasn’t been hurt,” Hunith observed. “Isn’t that good, Balinor?”

Balinor didn’t answer, just glared at Merlin. Aithusa was still crying so Merlin fed her some scraps from the table. That kept her quiet for a while. As soon as the little dragon was eating, Balinor let rip.

“What the hell did you think you were doing? Aithusa is a _baby_ dragon! Do you know how much responsibility you’ve been given, looking after her? I don’t like you taking her into the arena with you when you’re healing. Do not _ever_ take her in during a fight again! She could have been hurt!”

“I had her with me,” Merlin attempted. He didn’t think he was going to get away with that one as Balinor had obviously already heard what had happened.

“Not when she flew off to Princess Morgana! With a bunch of flowers if what Orn said was correct!”

Orn. Merlin hadn’t seen him in the arena but it didn’t surprise him to learn that he was the one who had reported what had happened. Orn was far and away the least friendly of the other dragonlords.

“It was only one flower.”

“I don’t care if it was a whole field of flowers! What were you thinking of?” Balinor continued. “What if someone thought Aithusa was attacking the princess and tried to shoot her down? She’s the first baby dragon born in the last twenty years! She is _so_ precious! I’ve explained all this to you already! You need to take better care of her.”

Balinor had indeed explained it all at length to Merlin. The previous evening had involved a lengthy tale about hereditary powers and the sacred bond that dragonlords had with dragons. The night before there had been the saga of how Balinor and Finna had searched for Aithusa’s egg, chasing after a legend on a dangerous hunt.

“Perhaps now that the dragons are safe here there will be more eggs, more baby dragons,” Hunith suggested. “Don’t be too hard on him, Balinor. He made a mistake. He won’t do it again, will you Merlin?”

Merlin shook his head mutely, wishing he wasn’t there.

“All this because he’s trying to impress a beautiful princess!” Balinor growled. “Idiotic! She’s marrying the king!”

“If you knew the first thing about our son you’d know it’s going to be the beautiful _prince_ that he’ll be trying to impress!” Hunith retorted. “Princesses aren’t his style.”

“Prince?” Balinor repeated, looking thrown for a moment. “What… Arthur?”

“Yes!”

“Is that a problem?” Merlin asked in a small voice. He’d only just found his father, he really didn’t want to lose him again so quickly just because Balinor couldn’t accept his sexual preferences. But he would. He’d do anything for Arthur.

Balinor shook his head quickly. “No… no of course not… I was surprised, that’s all. You know dragonlord powers are passed down to the eldest child…”

“And there’ll be no child,” Hunith finished for him. “But you were prepared to go through life without an heir until a few days ago. And there are other dragonlords. Finna has an adult daughter. Alator has a son.”

Balinor didn’t look particularly happy about that. “Ours is the strongest line. It always has been.”

“Then you should have come back for me!” Hunith retorted.

“I didn’t know about Merlin! I thought you would marry, be happy and safe! You could have let me know about him!” Balinor shouted.

Merlin stepped back, holding onto Aithusa. His parents had been far too happy since Hunith had come to stay. Everything had been almost fake in its sweetness. Now he could see that there was anger on both sides that had been just bubbling under the surface, waiting for an outlet.

“I didn’t know where you were!” Hunith yelled back. “I thought you were probably dead!”

“Obviously I wasn’t, woman! You know how it works – Merlin would have inherited my powers! You’d have seen!”

“There aren’t a lot of dragons in Ealdor, you cantankerous old goat! And you knew where _I_ was! Why didn’t you come and find me once it was safe? Tell me that, if we’re going to start laying blame for all those wasted years?”

Balinor stopped shouting. He gazed at Hunith sadly. “They _were_ wasted years for me. But not you. You raised Merlin. And I couldn’t go back to you. If I’d gone back to Ealdor I knew I’d find you happily married with a whole brood of children. I couldn’t face that. As long as I didn’t see it, it wasn’t real.”

That was a bit pathetic as excuses went, Merlin thought. Surely his mother wasn’t going to fall for that? But apparently Hunith had a bit of a weakness as far as his father was concerned. Merlin saw her face soften with obvious affection for the man.

“You silly old fool,” she said fondly. “You should have come back years ago.”

Balinor nodded his shaggy-haired head. “I know.”

Hunith reached over and squeezed his hand. “No point in arguing over it now. But you can’t shout at Merlin. You haven’t earned the right yet to tell him off.”

Balinor nodded again.

The conversation was taking an excellent turn. Merlin supposed his mother was going to absolutely rule their new home. He scooped up Aithusa, meaning to head for the kitchens.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” Hunith called.

Merlin looked around guiltily. He’d hoped that he could sneak off unnoticed. “The kitchen?”

“_Sit down._”

Merlin sat, recognising that tone.

“Your father may not have earned the right to tell you off yet, but I have…”

Yes, Hunith was going to rule their new home. No doubt about it.

\---

Morgana was biding her time.

She knew that at some point Cenred would call the dragonlords back to the castle, and they would undoubtedly bring Merlin and Aithusa with them. Because of that certainty she had written a message for Merlin that she intended sneaking to him via Aithusa. It wasn’t a pretence to ask to see the baby dragon – Aithusa was adorable and Morgana would have happily spent every minute of every day with her. But still it felt as if she were deceiving the poor creature somehow and she felt guilty for doing that. It was ridiculous, she knew, because life under Cenred’s rule was grim for them all. Even Aithusa would be better off under Arthur’s rule. As he was friends with Merlin he couldn’t possibly not have had his heart melted by Merlin’s constant companion.

Arthur’s note had been brief, but to Morgana it had felt like a lifeline. Just a few lines telling her to stay strong and that he would find a way to get them out. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had. And so she wrote her own message telling him where she was in the castle and that they needed to be careful because Merlin was being watched, and then just hoped there would be a chance to pass it on.

Two days after she had presided over the games at the arena, Cenred summoned the dragonlords and her opportunity arose.

As before, Morgana was summoned to the throne room and expected to sit as if she were actually a part of what was going on instead of a pawn in Cenred’s power games. She did so with little protest, there was after all no reason for her to object to seeing the dragonlords. Her liking for the baby dragon was well-known.

Aithusa, Morgana noticed, was growing up fast. She fluttered around Merlin when he walked in, then landed at his feet and stood there obediently. Merlin, she noticed, had one finger pointing down, right in front of the dragon’s face. It had to be a signal to stay put. Aithusa was just about obeying it, although she was tilting her head from side to side as if considering what to do about it. As Morgana watched, fascinated, Merlin took a small treat from his pocket and passed it down to Aithusa who gobbled it up happily. No wonder she was growing so fast, she did nothing but eat! Rewarded for her good behaviour, Aithusa gave a happy chirp, then stayed where she was, still looking at Merlin’s finger.

Every now and then Merlin fed her another tiny treat. Morgana couldn’t help smiling. Though if the little dragon was so well-behaved it would be hard to tempt her across the room so that Morgana could put the note in place.

Cenred and Balinor were not having such an agreeable time.

“The dragons are not circus animals,” Balinor was saying. “If I ask the great dragon to perform at your wedding he will likely quite literally toast the bride and groom. My king,” he added quickly as an afterthought.

“You can order him, surely. I thought that was what you dragonlords did?” Cenred argued. “What are you good for, Balinor? Do you have no control over your beasts? I see the little one is better behaved this time. The baby dragon too!”

Cenred thought he was funny, obviously. He and Morgause laughed, as did one of the male dragonlords. Balinor and Merlin exchanged unamused glances.

“I can command the great dragon, as you know Sire. He served you well at Caerleon. But that was war. This… _display_ of dragon flight over the arena… Kilgharrah is over a thousand years old. He will not appreciate it. Also he is too large to land comfortably in the arena. It would not be a good start to your marriage if your subjects are injured during your wedding.”

“We have other dragons,” the male dragonlord who had laughed stepped forward to speak. “We could use them. They are more compliant than Kilgharrah. Aesha, my black dragon, would look quite spectacular. And we have a green that one of the others could ride in. They would match your colours, Sire. It would be very fitting.”

Balinor did not look at all happy at that. Neither did the other two dragonlords.

“Is that the green that burned Edwin Muir’s place?” Cenred asked. “Powerful beast.”

“That was Faerova, yes,” Balinor confirmed. “Perhaps just one dragon could do this for you. Faerova is gentle, normally…”

“I want the black _and_ the green,” Cenred insisted, waving Balinor’s objections aside. “Orn,” he spoke to the male dragonlord who had offered the black, “you shall arrange this.” He glared at Balinor. “Perhaps I should rethink the hierarchy and you are not the most suitable leader of the dragonlords after all, Balinor.”

“Balinor is the strongest of us,” Lady Finna protested. “His has always been the true line. Em… _Merlin_ has proved this. Balinor is our leader and his son will be after him.”

“We would have no other,” the other dragonlord – Alator, Morgana thought his name was – said. It had been nearly a week and there had been a lot of introductions to people, and too many names to remember easily.

Orn was getting some angry looks from his brethren, but it didn’t appear to concern him. “Aesha and I would be proud to bless your wedding, my king,” he told Cenred, giving a deep bow. “Perhaps Merlin can ride Faerova?”

Morgana noticed Merlin’s face briefly light up at that suggestion, although he was quick to hide it. He glanced over at her, then away again. It was impossible to tell what he might have thought that he gained from riding the dragon at the wedding. He was young. Perhaps he simply wanted the thrill of it. She tried not to get her hopes up that it was some possibility of escape.

“We will discuss this later,” Balinor told Orn. He bowed to Cenred. “Your majesty, if that is all…”

They were going to leave, Morgana realised, and she hadn’t managed to deliver her message.

“Oh please can I see the baby dragon again?” she cried, holding out her hands. “Aithusa!”

Aithusa had been well-behaved so far, but as soon as she heard her name and saw Morgana reaching for her she sprang up and flew over to land in Morgana’s lap. Morgana could hear Merlin getting reprimanded by Balinor for not keeping Aithusa under better control and felt guilty.

Aithusa trilled happily at her and Morgana made a huge thing of petting her and hugging her. It was easy enough to slip the note under her collar before Morgause got up and came to stand at Morgana’s side, watching her suspiciously.

“Please don’t be angry with Merlin,” Morgana implored Balinor, still stroking Aithusa’s head. “It was wrong of me to call her over, but I do love her so. She’s getting bigger, soon I won’t be able to fit her on my lap.”

“My lady,” Balinor gave a little bow then walked over to her, presumably intending to take Aithusa back. But Morgause was faster. She reached down and grabbed Aithusa. The baby dragon chattered at her angrily but that didn’t bother Morgause who was looking Aithusa over carefully.

“Why yes, Sister, what a sweet creature this is. I can see exactly why you would be so fond of her.”

Balinor reached out to take the dragon. Morgause stroked Aithusa’s head, then smiled at Balinor and handed her back.

“You really need to take better care of something so precious,” Morgause told him. “Perhaps your son isn’t the best person to look after her?”

“I trust my son, my lady,” Balinor told her. He kept hold of Aithusa though, Morgana noticed. “We will take our leave of you all now.”

“Just ensure I have those two dragons on display at the wedding,” Cenred ordered. “A show of strength is needed to help crush the kingdoms of the north. Those will not be so easy to conquer as the weak kingdoms we have already taken. They have sorcerers. But they do not have dragons. I will be calling for you again, Balinor, and there will be much to do.”

It was a small glimmer of hope. Morgana met Merlin’s eyes and could tell he was thinking much the same as her. His greed in trying to take those northern kingdoms might well be Cenred’s undoing.

It didn’t help her, or Arthur. But it might help prevent any further kingdoms suffering Camelot’s fate.

\---

Arthur was getting used to seeing Merlin on a daily basis. It was the bright point of his day when the young physician turned up towards the end of the training sessions to supposedly check that there was nobody needing his help but in fact spending an hour or so sitting with his friends in their dorm.

“Cedric must think he’s hit the jackpot with you!” Gwaine laughed when Merlin appeared at his usual time. “Bet he’s never seen such a dedicated physician!”

“I think we know what he’s dedicated to,” Lancelot pointed out as Merlin greeted Arthur with a kiss. “Or rather who.”

Arthur ignored the good-natured teasing that followed from every single one of his friends.

“You’re just jealous,” he told them, then pulled Merlin close for a deep, tongue-duelling kiss that neither of them were in any hurry to break. Atihusa chirruped happily at them, hopping up and down.

“Oh my eyes!” Gwaine complained, pretending to cover Galahad’s face as the kiss went on and on. “Pur-leease! Think of the children!”

“Not a child, thank you Gwaine!” Galahad protested, pushing Gwaine’s hands away. But that started them all off on a different line of teasing and Arthur and Merlin had a few brief moments of peace.

“A baby knight!” Leon ruffled Galahad’s hair then jumped back quickly before Galahad could hit him.

“The purest of the pure,” Elyan agreed.

“Any sign of a beard yet?” That was Percival.

“I’m going to beat you all in training tomorrow,” Galahad threatened.

“I said nothing,” Lancelot pointed out.

“I’ll let you live then,” Galahad allowed, then yelled when Percival picked him up and slung him over his shoulder. “Put me down!”

Arthur and Merlin pulled apart to watch their friends tormenting poor Galahad. Arthur had seen the same sort of thing many times over, and been on the receiving end when he had first become a knight. Kay and Bedivere had been particularly fond of ducking squires and young knights in horse troughs if they got too cheeky. He smiled at the memory, although it hadn’t been much fun at the time. Galahad was just lucky that they were shut in the dormitory and there was no horse trough nearby.

“Aren’t you going to stop them?” Merlin protested. Arthur had forgotten that Merlin wouldn’t have grown up with knights. To him the behaviour might look like bullying. He wouldn’t know that Galahad would now spend days making sure he got revenge on them all. Arthur remembered how satisfying it had been to hear Sir Kay yelling with horror at the bucket of frogs Arthur had let loose in Kay’s rooms after the horse trough incident.

“Galahad can look after himself,” Arthur assured him. “He wouldn’t thank me for making him lose face. It’s a knight thing,” he added. “Trust me. We’d all lay down our lives for him if it came to it. You know that.”

Merlin frowned but then Galahad had got a knife from somewhere and managed to cut through the belt holding Percival’s breeches up.

“Oh my eyes!” Gwaine wailed. “My poor, poor eyes!”

“You see?” Arthur asked as Merlin joined in with the laughter that followed. “Banter.”

“Merlin!” Percival called, having dropped Galahad quite fast and now busy holding his breeches up. “Is your magic good enough to repair this belt?”

Merlin’s magic was quite impressive, to Arthur at least. He’d never seen magic used for good until he arrived in Essetir and met Merlin. Merlin was learning healing magic from the dragonlords, and also all sorts of other kinds of magic. It seemed as if Merlin could do anything. And magic couldn’t be something evil, not when it came from someone as good and kind as Merlin.

“You’re so smitten,” Gwaine commented, looking at Arthur who had been watching Merlin magically mending the belt. “Maybe I should worry about our dragonlord there hurting _you,_ my friend.”

“You just worry about yourself,” Arthur advised. “Ellie’s too good for you!” Then he realised what he’d said, because of course she was the rightful ruler of Gawant and Gwaine was just a gladiator. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” Gwaine reassured him. “Maybe they’re both too good for us, eh?”

Merlin handed the mended belt back to Percival, who put it back on then feinted at Galahad playfully, laughing when the youngster jumped back out of the way.

“You’ll keep,” Percival warned.

“I have news,” Merlin announced. It was a relief because Arthur could see their friends about to start joking around again. “I’ve been to the castle with the dragonlords and Aithusa.”

“Did you see Morgana?” Arthur asked immediately. “Was there a message?”

Merlin shook his head, sitting down on the edge of Arthur’s bed. The others all gathered around, instantly serious.

“I thought there might be because she asked for Aithusa. I thought she might have put a note in her collar. But there was nothing. It was lucky that she didn’t, because Morgause picked up Aithusa before she could get back to us and checked her over. She pretended not to, but that was what she was doing.”

“Poor little girl,” Percival sympathised. “Come here, Aithusa.”

Aithusa immediately hopped over to Percival, another well-known source of treats for her. She looked particularly tiny against the muscular gladiator but that was just an illusion. Soon enough Percival would be the only one of them still able to hold her.

“Morgause didn’t find anything?” Arthur checked. He feared for Morgana, alone there in the castle.

Merlin shook his head. “I think she would have reacted in some way. There was nothing, she just handed Aithusa back to my father.”

“She’s sneaky,” Gwaine warned. “No reaction doesn’t mean that she didn’t find something.”

“True,” Arthur agreed. “I think we should assume that whether or not there was a message Morgause is at best suspicious of you, Merlin. You need to be careful.”

“I know. But that wasn’t the news,” Merlin continued. “The king is marrying Princess Morgana next weekend.”

“We know that, Merlin,” Arthur told him. He didn’t really want to be reminded of how he had, to his mind at least, failed her.

“He wants us to involve the dragons in the celebrations.”

“Can you get them to turn him into a human candle?” Percival asked, stroking Aithusa fondly. “Just a suggestion.”

“It looks as if I’ll be riding Faerova,” Merlin told them. “There might be an opportunity to rescue Morgana if we’re flying into the arena and she’s there. I don’t know how I’d reach you as well though Arthur. You won’t be inside the arena when we are.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Arthur assured him. “Just get her out of there. This is good news, Merlin!”

“I won’t be able to warn her that it will be happening,” Merlin continued. “But she knows that I’m a friend. Hopefully she will trust me when she sees a dragon heading straight for her and not run away screaming.”

“Princess Morgana is a strong, brave woman,” Leon confirmed, and Arthur started to wonder whether Leon had a bit of a crush there. “She won’t run or scream.”

“What about Gwen?” Elyan asked. “Cenred might think she had a hand in it if he knows you and she are friends.”

“She seems to be with Morgana all the time,” Merlin told him. “Faerova would be able to carry them both and me too I think.”

“We can’t risk warning her,” Arthur realised. “But it’s a good plan, Merlin. I’d like to know that she is safe. Perhaps you could go north? Princess Mithian went north and managed to escape Cenred. Before Camelot fell I heard she was in Deira. She and Morgana are friends, I am certain she would shelter you both.”

“I would be back for you,” Merlin protested. “I wouldn’t leave you.”

Arthur sighed. He hadn’t wanted to tell Merlin his own news. “That might not be a problem after Saturday,” he said. “You know that there was a ballot outside the arena? People cast pebbles to decide who I would fight?”

Merlin nodded. “Mordred?”

“Yes, as we expected. They liked the brutal way that he murdered Bedivere. I suppose they want to see the same happen to me.”

“It won’t be personal,” Elyan told him. “They’ve seen you fight well twice. The people love to gamble on the outcome in the arena. They would want to see a good fight, a close one. They won’t have realised he’s using magic. They’ll think he’s a worthy opponent.”

“But he isn’t. Because he’ll use magic,” Merlin pointed out.

“Yes. So I am unlikely to win.”

“Unless you had magic too,” Merlin said thoughtfully.

“I don’t.”

“You have me,” Merlin reminded him. “I’ll do all I can to help you. But you’ll also have a weapon, a magical one. I knew this was a likely outcome so I went up and spoke to the great dragon.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You spoke to a dragon?”

“Dragons can talk, Arthur,” Merlin told him. “Aithusa will learn, she’s just too little right now. Kilgharrah – that’s the great dragon – he’s a thousand years old and just knows _everything_. He says you’re destined to be the greatest of kings and unite Albion under your rule.”

Arthur couldn’t help a bitter laugh at that. “I’m a prisoner, Merlin.”

“For now! I asked him about what I could do, whether he knew of a weapon strong enough to defeat a sorcerer. And there isn’t one…”

“Wonderful,” Leon muttered.

“… but he could make one! I need a sword, a good sword and then if I take it to him he’ll transform it. The most powerful sword ever made, Arthur. You’d be invincible!”

“My father has a sword,” Elyan said suddenly. “It’s a beauty, the finest thing he ever made. He’s always been too proud of it to sell it. I used it once, it has perfect balance! He was furious with me.”

“Do you think he’d sell it to me?” Merlin asked. “If he’s so proud of it he won’t want to part with it.”

“I’ll write you a letter, begging him to sell you the sword,” Elyan offered. “He knows you as a friend of Gwen’s and of mine, Merlin. He has no love for Cenred’s rule. He’d support Arthur if it came down to it, I know he would.”

“We all would,” Gwaine confirmed. He got up and started searching around. “Here’s paper… who has ink?”

Lancelot produced a quill and ink. “Here.”

“I can bring it to you on the morning of the fight,” Merlin told Arthur enthusiastically whilst Elyan was writing his letter. “I’ll come in before we do the display with the dragons.”

“You’re here all the time anyway,” Leon agreed. “There won’t be a problem getting in.”

“It’ll work!” Merlin insisted. “And if it’s such a good sword and protects you against magic then you could get out!” he looked around at his friends. “You could all get out.”

“That would be something,” Percival agreed. “I’d like to walk through green fields again.”

“It would be risky,” Arthur looked around at the whole group. “I couldn’t ask any of you to stand with me. Some of you nearly have your freedom anyway.”

Elyan shrugged. “Perhaps. It’s strange how many gladiators lose fights and die just before they’ve achieved enough royal seals to gain their freedom.”

“You know Galahad and I are never likely to gain our freedom,” Leon said truthfully. “But we’d follow you even if that wasn’t the case, Arthur.”

“As would the rest of us,” Lancelot agreed. “Cenred is not a king that inspires men to follow him.”

“But you are, Arthur,” Merlin told him. Arthur wondered if he’d ever be worthy of the adoring way that Merlin looked at him. “You really are.”

\---

“Merlin, can I have a word?”

Merlin paused, his hand on the dormitory door as he was about to leave. He’d stayed longer than usual while they had all discussed possible plans for the weekend. Elyan’s letter was safely tucked inside his jacket, and Aithusa was trotting at his side, ready to go home. He’d thought they’d all talked about everything they could possibly need to but Gwaine looked deadly serious.

“What is it?”

Gwaine glanced back at the others, then indicated the door. “Privately?”

That sounded ominous. Merlin went out into the corridor with Aithusa and Gwaine followed. At any moment the guards would start locking up and send him back inside so they would need to talk quickly about whatever it was.

“Well?”

“You’re rich now, right?” Gwaine asked.

“My father is.”

“But you’ll buy this sword with his money? And you have wages from working here now?”

Merlin relaxed a little, thinking he knew the problem. “Have you got into debt? I thought you were only gambling with counters down here? Tell me you didn’t use actual money?”

Gwaine shook his head. “No. It’s not me, it’s Ellie. Merlin, just in case I don’t get out of here, I want you to promise me that you’ll buy her. Please?”

Merlin gaped at him. Whatever he had expected Gwaine to say, it wasn’t that. “I can’t… Gwaine! I was a slave! I can’t own another person, I just couldn’t do it! Slavery is wrong!”

“Buy her and free her! Merlin come on, you know what’s going to happen if I die in the arena. Especially with what we’ve been talking about. I want to support Arthur but I just need to know that if that happens then Ellie and the baby are going to be all right.”

Ellie would be heartbroken and never be all right if anything happened to Gwaine, Merlin knew that. But he understood what Gwaine was asking and why. Only a short time ago he’d been in the same position as Ellie and he’d seen how badly some people could treat a person.

“I want to see you get your freedom, Gwaine. But if you don’t then I promise I’ll help Ellie.” He couldn’t say that he would buy her, the whole issue was too horrible for him. “I’ll tell my mother there’s a friend of mine here who would make a good maid for her. She won’t like the purchase part any more than I do and she’ll free Ellie at once. And Ellie will have a home and a job.”

“Perfect! Don’t even wait, ask her now! The sooner Ellie’s out of here the better. Please, Merlin?”

Merlin could well imagine what his mother was going to say about the whole situation, but Gwaine was right. In a few days everything could go horribly wrong, and Ellie would be better off as far away as possible.

“I’ll ask her,” he promised. “I don’t know how long these things take to arrange, but she’ll do it, I’m sure.”

Gwaine breathed a huge sigh of relief and pulled Merlin into a brotherly embrace. “Thanks, Merlin. I knew I could rely on you.”

Merlin hugged him back. He just hoped Gwaine’s faith wasn’t misplaced.

\---

Tom the blacksmith had shut up shop for the evening when Merlin arrived. Merlin tied up his horse in the yard, and accepted Tom’s invitation to come in for a drink. He’d always liked Tom. They’d known each other for several years through Merlin’s friendship with Gwen and then Elyan in recent times. Tom, he supposed, was probably quite lonely now that both his children had effectively moved out. Elyan at least would hopefully be back soon.

“Is that a dragon, Merlin?” Tom asked, looking down at Aithusa. “I heard you were with the dragonlords now? Is it true?”

Merlin shrugged. “I find it hard to believe myself sometimes. Balinor is my father. I had no idea and neither did he.”

“Looks as if you’ve done very well out of it though,” Tom indicated Merlin’s jacket. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer lad either. I’m pleased for you, son.”

Merlin smiled, then bent down to pick up Aithusa. “This is Aithusa. She’s sort of adopted me, we’re learning about dragons and dragonlords together. Aithusa, this is Tom. Another friend for you.”

“She’s not going to burn my house down if she sneezes or something?” Tom checked, tentatively reaching out to stroke Aithusa.

“Probably not.”

“I don’t like that probably bit, Merlin,” Tom laughed, turning away to pour them both tankards of mead. “Just make sure she behaves!”

Merlin sat down in one of Tom’s chairs, accepting the tankard of mead and keeping it well away from Aithusa who was sniffing at it inquisitively. “No, that’s not for you. Honestly, Percival fed you just now! You wouldn’t believe how much this tiny dragon can eat, Tom!”

“Probably won’t be so tiny for long,” Tom told him, sitting down in the chair opposite. “Elyan had a puppy when he was a boy. That thing grew huge, used to eat us out of house and home. Great guard dog though. I would imagine your Aithusa here will be even better. So anyway, nice as it is to see you, this probably isn’t a social call is it?

Merlin shook his head, feeling a bit guilty. “The thing is, Tom, I need a sword. And I heard you have a particularly fine one.”

“Ah, yes, my beauty. Elyan told you about her then? Did he also tell you that she’s not for sale?”

Merlin nodded. “He did. He also wrote this,” he took the letter out of his pocket and handed it to Tom, then sat back drinking mead while the other man read it.

The letter was several pages long. Merlin hadn’t looked at it as he supposed that Elyan had put private correspondence in there as well as a request on Merlin’s behalf for the sword.

Tom sat there reading the letter quietly for a long time. Merlin saw him finish then go back and read it again. Finally he got up, and threw the letter into the fire. Merlin thought he looked far wearier than he had earlier.

“You know this is a dangerous thing you’re doing? You could all be killed?”

“Yes. We know.”

“Hmm.” Tom regarded him for a moment, then left the room. When he returned he was carrying a large sword-shaped bundle, wrapped up in a heavy cloth.

“I suppose there’s no point in creating something and then hiding it away never to be used. And if this helps my boy stay alive because your young king can protect him with it then it’s yours. I’m not going to argue that I think you’re all foolish or that I think it’s too dangerous because I know you won’t listen. Elyan has never listened to me and I’m sure you’re cut from the same cloth. But please be careful, Merlin. I’d like my boy to come home safe. I’d gift you with a thousand swords if I thought that would happen. You and all your friends, just stay safe.”

“We’ll try,” Merlin promised. He took the sword, unwrapping it reverently. It was perfect, just as Elyan had said. Truly a beautiful weapon. “This is a magnificent piece.”

“Best I ever made. Just make sure you use it well.”

Merlin lifted it up, watching it glint in the firelight. “Oh, I will.”

\---

Morgana’s life had hit a new low.

As soon as the dragonlords had left, any hope she’d had that her message would have reached Merlin were dashed. Morgause had held up the small piece of paper, still carefully folded so that it would not be noticed under Aithusa’s collar.

“Shall we see what this is?” Morgause asked. “Or would you like to tell us?”

Cenred’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you find that?”

“Tucked under the baby dragon’s collar. I presume there was a message passed that way the other day as well?”

Morgana regarded her as coldly as she could. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. “I am a little old for passing secret messages. Arthur and I did that kind of thing when we were children.”

“And yet here we are,” Morgause opened up the note, perused it, then passed it over to Cenred. “I’m certain we’ll find that the hand is a match for your own, dear sister. And it is unlikely that anyone else would have written such a clear description of the location of your room, do you not think?”

There was no point in further pretence. Morgana knew there was no saving herself. But she could try to protect Merlin and Arthur.

“I heard Merlin say that he worked in the arena and knew Arthur. On his previous visit, that was what he said. I thought, as Aithusa is so friendly, that she might come to me again. I wanted to pass a note to my brother. Merlin is quite blameless in this. He won’t even have known I was trying to send a message.”

“Blameless,” Morgause repeated. “Yes, I am sure that your brother’s lover is extremely blameless.”

They knew about Arthur and Merlin. The brief shock at the news must have shown on her face, because Morgause’s smile widened, mistaking the reason for it.

“Ah, did you not know? And there was I thinking you and Arthur were so close.”

Morgana did not bother to correct Morgause’s misunderstanding. It suited her well if Morgause thought that Morgana knew less than she did.

“I have not seen my brother since we arrived in Essetir, except from a distance in the arena. I can hardly be expected to keep up with his romantic adventures. Merlin is a handsome young man, I’m sure he would appeal to Arthur greatly.”

“Handsome?” Cenred queried. “A little skinny. And those ears…”

“Certainly handsome compared to all other men I’ve met in Essetir!” Morgana snapped, bracing herself for the slap she knew was coming. But she was doomed anyway and she knew it. Neither of them would ever forgive her for the betrayal. There was no point in holding back on the disgust she felt for him. “Ah! Especially _you!_”

Cenred raised his hand to slap her again, but Morgause stopped him.

“No, my dear. We don’t want any visible marks at the wedding. It’s to be a joyous occasion, a fresh young bride, the hope of an heir to come. All the talk in the city is of the wedding.”

“I’d rather _die_ than bring a child of yours into the world!” Morgana snarled.

“No…” Morgause caught Cenred’s hand again. “I don’t want to waste my time and energy healing up her face.”

“She deserves to be horsewhipped through the streets! I am the king! _The king!”_ Cenred turned away, then caught sight of Gwen standing in the corner as far from them as possible. “You! Get out! And never speak a word of this or I’ll have you flogged!”

Gwen ran from the room. Morgana wished she could follow.

“You should have kept her here,” Morgause pointed out. “Morgana is fond of the girl.”

“She’s just a servant,” Morgana protested. “She’s nothing.”

“Whatever you say. Now what will happen is this. You’ll marry Cenred and you’ll bear him a child, whether you wish to or not. And then the people will tragically lose their beloved queen in childbirth. There will be days of mourning. The young prince will be more beloved because of the great tragedy surrounding his birth.”

“Or princess,” Morgana corrected with a sneer. “Girls are born as often as boys.”

“It will be a boy,” Morgause confirmed. “There are ways, with magic. The conception, of course, will need to be entirely natural. What fun for you, my dear.”

“I’ll scratch your eyes out!” Morgana swore.

“No.”

For a moment Morgause’s eyes flashed gold, and Morgana felt the now familiar tug of magic holding her in place, unable to move.

“You see, you’ll do no such thing. You’ll do exactly as we wish. You will marry Cenred and unite two proud kingdoms legitimately, making it impossible for Arthur or any other pretender to try to claim that they should be the rightful king or queen. You will produce an heir, and then your usefulness and your life will be over. I am quite genuinely sorry. I had hoped you would have been glad to join with us. But that wasn’t to be.”

Morgana glared at her, but could do nothing more as she was unable to move any part of her body other than her eyes.

“But first we need to deal with your brother, and with the dragonlord’s son. I have people watching them, I know they’re plotting together. And they’ll tell you, if you ask them, exactly what they’re doing. If you tell them that it’s safe to communicate with these silly little notes then they’ll do so. It doesn’t matter, I have eyes and ears everywhere. I’ll find out what they’re doing soon enough anyway. But if they think they can save you then that can be where we trap them. Even Balinor won’t be able to stop us executing his son when it’s been proved that he’s committed treason. So, I want you write a fresh note, letting them know that all is well and that it’s safe to write to you.”

Morgana found that she could move again.

“I won’t do it,” she exclaimed. “You can’t make me. You’ll never manage to make it look like my hand if you force me.”

“True,” Morgause admitted. “Perhaps I should ask for your maid to be brought back in?”

Morgana didn’t ask why. She didn’t want to know, though she could guess.

“Don’t.”

“I see we understand each other. You’ll do as I say, or your maid will die. Slowly. You have no idea how much pain I could inflict on her before she dies. She’ll be begging me to finish her by the end of it. So” – Morgause’s eyes flashed gold and paper, quill and ink appeared on a writing desk in front of Morgana – “start writing.”

\---

“What is it this time, young warlock?”

Merlin was sure that Kilgharrah gave a deep sigh whenever he spoke. It hadn’t stopped Merlin from visiting the great dragon most days at some point. Usually the dragon appeared to be sleeping. That morning was no different from usual.

“Do you not know why I am here?”

“It may surprise you, Merlin, but my knowledge of your life is not universal,” the dragon scoffed.

“You said that you could burnish a weapon for Arthur, if I brought you a sword.”

“I said nothing of you bringing me a sword, Merlin. I merely stated that a weapon burnished in a dragon’s breath would give the wielder great power.”

Merlin was fairly sure that wasn’t what Kilgharrah had said to him, but the dragon liked to talk in riddles and could be quite confusing. It was best, he’d found, to be quite direct. Unwrapping the sword Tom had given him, he held it out to Kilgharrah. The great dragon looked at it, gave a huff of disdain, then closed his eyes.

“I’m tired, young warlock.”

“Please,” Merlin attempted. “Arthur will die in the arena in a few days if he doesn’t have a sword that can protect him against magic. You said he was to be the greatest king. You said that there were prophecies about him!”

“Emrys and the once and future king. Yes. Alator and Finna have been quite tiresome about it all. I long for a time when dragonlords lived alone. Balinor can be a foolish man, but he is quiet and tolerable. I assume you take after your mother.”

Merlin pressed on, because as far as he was concerned taking after his mother was just fine. “So you want Cenred to remain king, and Arthur never to be able to take his throne and begin his reign?”

Kilgharrah gave an even heavier sigh, and got to his feet. “Give me the sword, young warlock, and I will do as you ask. But remember, the sword can be used for great harm as well as great good. No one must ever use this weapon but Arthur. It is for him alone.”

“I understand.”

“If only you did,” Kilgharrah replied.

Merlin levitated the sword in front of the dragon, keeping himself at what he hoped was a safe distance. Kilgharrah took a deep breath, then exhaled a fiery blast at the sword. It glowed golden in the morning sunlight, rotating slowly as Kilgharrah infused it with magical power.

When the dragon finished, Merlin lowered the sword gently to the ground. He was hesitant to touch it, expecting it to be hot.

“You can safely carry it,” Kilgharrah told him. “Remember, Merlin, this was created for Arthur alone. And when Arthur walks this earth no more it is you, Merlin, who must ensure that the sword is placed where no mortal man can ever find it.”

Another prophecy, and one that Merlin did not want to probe too deeply, yet could not help himself.

“You’re prophesying that Arthur will die?”

“All mortal men die, young warlock. That is fact, not prophecy. Now go. I wish to sleep.”

Merlin thanked him and picked up the sword. It didn’t feel any different. But it looked different. Now the metal was a fusion of colour – gold and black alongside the silvery steel. It looked nothing like the plain swords that were used in the arena, or the heavy dull metal of the weapons that Cenred’s guards carried. There was writing on the hilt. On one side it read ‘Take me up’ and on the other ‘Cast me away’. And down half the length of the blade was inscribed the single word – Excalibur.

It was beautiful. Fit for a king.

Fit for Arthur.


	9. Chapter 9

It was the second time that Cenred had summoned the dragonlords to the castle that week.

“This is getting tiresome,” Balinor muttered as the five of them made their way to the throne room. “Please tell me he’s not going to want Kilgharrah to carry in the ring or something!”

“He could wear a flower garland! He’d love that!” Merlin smirked, and Balinor frowned at him.

“No laughing when we’re in front of the king, Merlin. He doesn’t have a sense of humour. And keep Aithusa under control this time please.”

Merlin didn’t bother pointing out that Aithusa had been extremely well behaved until Morgana had called to her, and it wasn’t his fault that had happened.

“Yes Father,” he replied, and managed to look so repentant that Balinor and Finna both laughed. “Ah, no laughing in front of the king you two!”

Alator hushed them all as the doors to the throne room opened. Inside, Cenred and Morgana were seated on their thrones. Morgause stood between them. Merlin wondered why she didn’t just have a throne of her own. It wasn’t as if her position as the king’s lover was any kind of secret.

Morgana looked downcast, Merlin thought as they approached. She looked tired, as if much of her strength had been taken away from her, and did not greet them. Her eyes were on Aithusa, and Aithusa alone. Merlin wondered what had happened. Morgause had stood on the other side of the throne before. Had Morgana tried to send a message via Aithusa on their last visit after all, and Morgause intercepted it? There was no way of telling.

“Balinor,” Cenred said, not bothering with any small talk. “You are to take your dragons and fly north. Mithian of Nemeth has married king Æthelfrith of Deira and they are summoning an army against us. They have no protection against dragons. You are to take the great dragon and raze their kingdom to the ground.”

“Sire,” Balinor protested. “Kilgharrah is not a weapon. He is a noble beast who will outlive us all and…”

“He will certainly outlive you if you don’t obey me,” Cenred warned. “Lord Alator and Lady Finna will accompany you. Lord Orn and your son will remain and manage the display at the wedding as agreed. Your wife and son are to remain here in Essetir until you return. Just in case you have any ideas about flying off and not coming back.”

The implied threat hung in the air. Balinor regarded Cenred for a long time, his gaze impassive under his heavy eyebrows. Finally the dragonlord nodded agreement.

“As you wish, my king.”

Merlin tried not to show just how disappointed he was in his father for capitulating like that. But it was difficult. His natural tendency had always been to show his emotions and he really wanted to turn round and tell Balinor exactly what he thought. But he couldn’t do that in front of Cenred and still expect to ever be allowed near Morgana again. So he held his tongue and tried to concentrate on making Aithusa sit still at his feet. This time, to be safe, he’d got her on a leash. Aithusa kept trying to bite it. He just hoped that it stayed in one piece for the length of their visit.

“These are the maps,” Cenred held out a rolled-up scroll of parchment. Balinor stepped up and took it. “Your instructions are there as well, in case you forget them or claim to misunderstand. Now leave. Æthelfrith and his new wife are to be killed. Deira is to be obliterated from the maps. A warning for all those who stand against Essetir.”

“As you wish, my king,” Balinor said again. Merlin thought he sounded angry, but knew that might just be wishful thinking that his father wasn’t as much Cenred’s lapdog as he appeared to be.

Merlin stood there, breathing hard, trying not to show a reaction. He just wanted to get out of that room, away from Cenred and Morgause. No wonder poor Morgana looked almost broken. She probably knew Mithian of Nemeth. They might have been friends.

Gwen was nowhere in sight that day. Merlin wondered if she was having a day off, or perhaps whether she had been dismissed because he couldn’t see her lasting long in that place. She would find Cenred as vile as he did. Perhaps that was why Morgana looked so downcast – she and Gwen had got along well by all accounts and Morgana would miss her. He wanted to ask, but if things had soured for Gwen then he knew it would not help anyone if he did so.

“You may all go,” Cenred told them.

Merlin looked one last time at Morgana, hoping that perhaps she would call Aithusa over again and there would be a chance at a message. He had none for her, they couldn’t risk it, but he hated the thought of leaving her there looking so desperately sad.

“Wait!”

It was Morgause who had spoken, not Morgana.

“What is it now?” Cenred asked irritably. “I need Balinor on his way. Deira could attack at any time.”

“Morgana has been a little unwell. She was particularly looking forward to seeing the baby dragon today, weren’t you, Sister?”

Morgana nodded her head. Her expression didn’t change much. If anything she looked even less happy. “Yes, I was looking forward to that,” she said dully.

“Merlin, do bring the dragon over to see her.”

“We’re wasting time,” Cenred grumbled.

“Just a few minutes,” Morgause urged.

Merlin picked up Aithusa and placed her in Morgana’s lap. “Aithusa is very fond of you, your highness,” he told Morgana. Morgana did manage a smile when Aithusa chirruped at her, and Merlin handed her a couple of dragon treats from his pocket. “Would you like to feed her? She’s always hungry.”

Morgause was watching them like a hawk. She reached down and snatched one of the treats herself.

“I’m sure I would like to feed her as well. What are these, Merlin?”

Ah. They were crushed worms and insects of various types, coated in sesame oil and then baked into a hard pellet. It meant they were easy to carry around. Aithusa could never get enough of them.

“Um… they’re a sort of meat-based product,” Merlin offered. “Very nutritious.”

Morgause sniffed it, wrinkled her nose in disgust, and quickly pushed it towards Aithusa. Aithusa snatched it, managing to nip Morgause’s finger as she did so.

“Ow!”

“You have to be careful when feeding,” Merlin explained quickly in case Morgause decided to retaliate. “She would smell the food on your finger and think your finger was food. See how Morgana does it.”

Morgana gently tossed a pellet to Aithusa, who caught it happily. She would never bite Morgana anyway, Aithusa was very careful around her friends. Merlin had never, ever seen her bite anyone before. He doubted it was an accident. Aithusa seemed able to judge a person and what they were like very accurately.

Morgause regarded Aithusa for a moment, then, with more care than she had used on the previous occasion, picked her up. Aithusa protested loudly, but Morgause made only a cursory attempt at petting her before handing her back to Merlin.

“Delightful. Wasn’t that delightful, Sister?”

“Aithusa is wonderful,” Morgana agreed. It was the most heartfelt thing that Merlin had heard her say. She didn’t speak again.

“Leave now,” Cenred ordered. “Go.”

The dragonlords didn’t need telling again. Merlin carried Aithusa out, glad to be away from Cenred and Morgause. He wished they could take Morgana with them.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Merlin rounded on his father angrily.

“How could you just give in to him like that? If Kilgharrah destroys that kingdom, we’re all no better than Cenred is!”

Balinor put an arm around his son, steering him down the corridor. Merlin noticed that they were moving more quickly than Balinor normally walked.

“Hush Merlin, we’ll talk about this at home,” Balinor told him.

Alator was on his other side, surreptitiously glancing around as they walked as if he were expecting to be overheard. Finna was a little in front of them, she turned briefly and shook her head at Merlin.

“Not here.”

Orn, walking behind them, remained silent.

\---

Balinor was leaving. Again.

Hunith tried not to feel disappointed. After all she had already lost him two decades earlier and done all her grieving then.

“We’ll be back in a few weeks,” he promised as she helped him pack for his journey. “Orn is going to look after the dragons while we’re gone. Merlin will help him.”

There was something about Orn that Hunith didn’t entirely trust. He had never been as enthusiastic about the discovery that Merlin was supposedly the legendary Emrys as Alator and Finna had been. That wasn’t a reason for her to mistrust him, of course, though she couldn’t help wondering why he wasn’t as caught up in the legends as his kin. It was just a feeling she had. The way that Orn looked at Balinor sometimes made her think that he disliked her man, or at least wanted his position as head of the dragonlords.

“It sounds dangerous, what you’re doing,” she told him. “I’ve only just found you again. I know there’s no point in asking you not to go, but please be careful.”

“I’ll come back,” he promised. “How could I not when I have so much here. You, and Merlin…”

Merlin had come into their room and was glaring at his father. He had been ever since they got back. Hunith knew her son. Any moment and he was going to burst out with whatever was annoying him. Sure enough…

“Those people in Deira have families too! Ones they didn’t abandon! You’re going there to kill them for Cenred! You’re as bad as he is! Mother” – he turned to Hunith and she could see the tears standing out in his eyes – “how can you let him do this? Cenred wants him to obliterate an entire kingdom!”

“I’m not going to do that, boy,” Balinor said quietly.

“What? You’re not?” Merlin sounded hopeful. “But you’re going.”

Balinor tied up the pack that he’d filled, and sat down on the edge of the bed. It was a huge bed, a fine room. For a few days at least Hunith had felt she was living like a queen. She knew that it was unlikely to last. She had hoped that they would have longer.

“Your father is going to offer the support of the dragonlords to Deira,” Hunith told him. “He’ll be gone for two days, returning for us on the day of the wedding. Cenred and Morgause will be preoccupied with that and won’t see us leave. I’ll take Faerova, with Rose. Kilgharrah will carry Gaius and your father. He’ll lead out the rest of the dragons. You will have to ride one of them, as will any of the rest of our staff who wish to come with us. Alator and Finna are making similar arrangements in their own households.”

“The dragonlords will not work for Cenred any longer,” Balinor confirmed. “You’re right, Merlin. This crime would make us as bad as him.”

“What about Orn?” Merlin asked. “He’ll still be here.”

“He’ll be at the wedding, in the arena with Aesha. He won’t leave, he’s too busy ingratiating himself with the king,” Balinor said. “It means you won’t be able to go to the arena that day, Merlin.”

Hunith looked at her son. He was biting his lip nervously, obviously wanting to say something that he knew wouldn’t go down well. It was an expression she had become used to as he was growing up.

“What is it, Merlin?”

“I have to be in the arena that day. Arthur has to have Excalibur or he’ll be killed. I’m supposed to be there on Faerova. You heard Kilgharrah, Father. There’s a prophecy about me and Arthur. If you want someone to overthrow Cenred then you’re looking in the wrong place. He’s right here in Essetir already. We have a plan, I was going to ride in on Faerova and free him and Morgana. We would get away, the rest of the knights would escape in the chaos.”

“Has this got something to do with that serving girl you wanted me to buy?” Hunith asked suspiciously.

“Have you done it?” Merlin asked eagerly.

“I’ve made a request. Her owner is coming back to me with a price. Honestly Merlin, I’ve never done something so horrible! Buying a human being, even if it is in order to free her. It makes me feel ill.”

“But you’ve done it?”

“Yes. She’ll be released once they’ve drawn up the papers.”

Merlin looked relieved, then came over and hugged her. “Thank you, Mother.”

Balinor shook his head. “It’s lucky we’re leaving. I’d have half of Camelot here if we stayed much longer. But Merlin, this plan sounds foolhardy. Tell me more. Show me this sword. I agree that we should help Arthur if we can. Any rebellion needs a leader to rally round. A king foretold in legend would be a fine thing. But let’s talk it through. There may be better ways to do this.”

Merlin smiled happily at him, probably because Balinor hadn’t completely dismissed his idea, then rushed off to fetch Excalibur. Hunith watched him go, fondly.

“He’s in love with this Arthur you know?” she commented. “If it goes wrong and Arthur dies our boy’s heart will be broken.”

“Best to make sure it doesn’t then,” Balinor replied. “This family’s had enough broken hearts. Come here,” he patted a space beside him on the bed, taking her hand in his when she sat down there beside him. “Cenred said one thing today that made sense. Only one, mind.”

“And what was that?” Hunith smiled. “Leave?”

“Perhaps two then,” Balinor chuckled. “No, woman, he told me my wife and son had to stay here.”

“I’m not your wife,” she reminded him softly.

“In all but name. What do you say, woman? Would you take an old dragonlord? Handfast with me?”

Hunith smiled and leaned in to kiss her love. She was only ever going to give one answer. Although if he called her ‘woman’ once more she was going to smack him one.

And so it was that just an hour or so later she was standing out on the hillside with Balinor, their hands tied loosely together with a silken ribbon, Alator solemnly presiding over it all.

It was simple, but that would have been her preference anyway. All the people that were most important to her were there – Merlin and Gaius, and her new friends Finna and Rose. And of course her husband. It was strange how life turned out.

They’d lost twenty years that they could have spent together, but at least they had whatever time was left to them. It might be days, it might be decades. But then, that was true for everyone no matter their age.

Kilgharrah, typically, was pretending to sleep through it all. Every now and then he let out a snore to show his disdain. Aithusa simply fluttered around randomly, always happy to be around people. And Faerova, who was the friendliest full-grown dragon Hunith had ever met, sat watching them both.

At the very end of the ceremony, Faerova got to her feet. She bowed her head, breathed deeply, then let out a cool, refreshing blast of dragonbreath. It hit Hunith full on and she staggered for a moment.

“What was that?” Hunith asked warily. She felt better than she had in years, rejuvenated. Dragon magic could have that effect, she knew. Still, she had good reason to be suspicious.

“It’s a blessing on your union,” Finna told her. “Of course, you are both already blessed with Emrys. There could be no greater joy.”

Hunith narrowed her eyes. Balinor was looking quite shifty and uncomfortable.

“We’ll be off now, wife,” he said, kissing her quickly before she could voice her protests. “Take care of the place for me. Make sure Merlin doesn’t get into too much trouble while I’m away…”

“Balinor, if that blessing is what I think it is…”

“We’ll talk about it when I’m back,” he promised, which was answer enough really.

“I’m too old to have another baby!” she cried. “Balinor, I’ll geld you _and_ neuter that damned dragon!”

The old goat actually _ran _towards Kilgharrah.

Hunith turned away, fuming. Merlin was right there, gaping at her like a fish.

“Not one word,” she warned.

Merlin held his hands up defensively and wisely remained silent.

\---

The wedding of Cenred and Morgana was only one day away.

Arthur stood in the tunnel leading away from the gladiator school and took one last look at the daylight before he had to go down into the darkness of the labyrinth of rooms and tunnels beneath the arena. When he saw sunlight again it would be a new day. The day he would have to face a sorcerer in the arena in what would probably be a fight to the death.

Merlin hadn’t visited the previous day and it worried him. Two days ago Merlin had arrived all enthusiastic because he’d had a magnificent sword burnished in dragonfire for Arthur. Excalibur, Merlin had said it was called. It would protect him against Mordred’s attack and meant that Arthur actually stood a chance of winning. Without Excalibur, and without Merlin’s magic to aid him as well, Arthur’s chances of success against the treacherous druid were significantly reduced.

Mordred was out on the training ground having just finished facing up to Elyan. Elyan was a fine swordsman, swift and fearless. Mordred was also skilled and would have been a worthy opponent in his own right. Out there, the match had been fair and even. Arthur knew that if the two had met in the arena Elyan would be lying in the dust bleeding out by now because Mordred would have used trickery.

Trickery. Sorcery. The word that his father had taught him to hate all through his life. Arthur understood why his father thought that. He could see the evils of sorcery in Mordred and in Morgause. Everything bad about sorcery was revealed in Cenred’s kingdom. Yet Arthur did not hate it. He hated the cruel people who misused and abused it. It was a weapon like any other. It wasn’t the weapon that was evil, it was the darkness in the hearts of some who wielded it.

Merlin didn’t have that darkness in him, and neither did Morgana. Arthur clung to that thought as he watched Mordred. The man was returning his practice sword and shield to the store and brushing whatever advice George was trying to give him aside, not that Arthur blamed him for that – George wasn’t the most natural of instructors. George was at least trying to keep them all alive though. It had to be a disheartening task when almost all your charges would be destined to die in front of a screaming mob.

Mordred turned and saw Arthur watching him. He met and held Arthur’s gaze, neither man willing to be the first to look away. A slow, taunting smile started to make its way across Mordred’s face.

“Arthur!”

Merlin came rushing up behind him, and Arthur turned, glad of the excuse to look away from Mordred. Merlin looked as disorganised as ever, a bag slung over his shoulder, his hair all over the place and his jacket askew. The smart new son of a dragonlord look hadn’t lasted very long, it seemed. Aithusa was flying along beside him and shrieked happily when she saw Arthur.

“Where have you been?” Arthur demanded, grabbing Merlin’s arm and guiding him back down the corridor and away from Mordred as fast as possible. “The wedding’s tomorrow!”

“Ow!” Merlin protested, though Arthur knew he wasn’t actually hurt. There was no way that Arthur would ever actually hurt him.

“I’m barely touching you!”

“You’re a great big gladiator, picking on a poor little physician! Look, all I have is a tiny baby dragon to defend me! Arthur’s a bully, isn’t he Aithusa? Tell Arthur he’s a bully!”

“Ahhh! Ahhh!” Aithusa shrieked enthusiastically, and Merlin immediately stopped walking and bent down to give her attention.

“What was that? Are you trying to say Arthur? Say again. Arthur… Arthur…”

“I think you’re pushing it a bit, Merlin,” Arthur scoffed. “She’s just shrieking nonsense.”

“Ahh-ahh!” Aithusa cried again.

“Clever girl!” Merlin enthused, reaching into his pocket. “Arthur, she’s starting to talk! She’s saying your name.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, because clearly Aithusa was a considerable way off talking and was just making sounds. But Merlin seemed convinced, so he just went along with it. “Very eloquent. And obviously she’ll look for something intelligent to start with.”

“Yes, she’s learning to say Arthur is a dollophead,” Merlin agreed. “I’ll be teaching her that one!”

Arthur was about to retaliate, then heard footsteps coming down the corridor behind them. Mordred.

“Let’s go,” Arthur insisted. He picked up Aithusa, who crowed happily, and hastened back to the room that he shared with the other knights. Merlin followed behind without question, which probably meant that he’d seen Mordred too.

Gwaine was in the dormitory with Ellie when they got in there. They’d been making the most of the empty room. The door was closed and there was a shriek from Ellie as soon as Merlin and Arthur barged in.

“Is knocking not a thing in Camelot?” Gwaine protested, holding up a sheet to shield Ellie whilst she pulled her clothes back together. Gwaine was shirtless but then Gwaine was often bare-chested so it didn’t really make that much difference.

“Tie up your breeches,” Merlin advised. Gwaine just laughed, but as soon as Ellie was decent again he did as he was bid.

“Gods, put a sign on the door!” Arthur grumbled. “What if we’d been a minute or two later?”

“You’d probably have learnt something!” Gwaine told him smugly, laughing when Ellie smacked him on the chest.

“Gwaine!”

Gwaine shrugged. “What can I say? I’m losing my girl later, some woman’s bought her as a ladies’ maid and Ellie’s being sent away. How am I supposed to cope?”

“Merlin’s mother?” Arthur guessed from the fact that neither Gwaine nor Ellie seemed particularly upset at the prospect that it couldn’t be anything other than the planned route to freedom for Ellie.

“She protested, but yes, I’m taking Ellie back with me tonight,” Merlin confirmed.

It was one less person to get out of the arena, and for that at least, Arthur was glad.

“I didn’t want to leave Gwaine,” Ellie told them. “But I know this is sensible.”

“The more of us who can get out of here the better,” Arthur agreed. “And from what Merlin says you’ll be going to live in some sort of palace!”

“It’s like a palace to me!” Merlin told him defensively. “I’ve never lived anywhere like it. And we’re all going to have to leave!”

That was news. “Why?” Arthur asked. “Your father has a whole herd of dragons. Nobody can make him go anywhere.”

Merlin went over to the door, looked out, then shut it firmly before coming back to talk to Arthur, Gwaine and Ellie and getting them all to huddle together in the corner.

“There’s been some developments,” he told them. “Princess Mithian escaped north and reached Deira. She’s married the king there and they’ve declared war on Essetir.”

“Good for Mith!” Ellie cheered, then put her hands over her mouth. “Oops, sorry,” she whispered. “Mithian and I have been friends most of our lives. I hope she likes this king she’s married.”

“I think he gave her sanctuary,” Merlin told her. “And she’s lost her lands to Cenred. There’s no reason for this king to force her into a marriage she didn’t want. I think my father knows him. I don’t think you need to worry about your friend.”

“Is it King Æthelfrith?” Arthur asked. “He was ruler of Deira, the last I heard. He has sorcerers working with him.”

“That’s him. Cenred called us all in yesterday. He ordered my father and the others to take the dragons and lay waste to Deira, to kill Æthelfrith and Mithian. Lord Orn and I are doing the dragon display at the wedding alone now.”

“And your father is going to destroy an entire kingdom?” Arthur exclaimed. “Merlin!”

“No!” Merlin hissed. “Shush, Arthur.”

Arthur looked affronted because he felt he had to, but didn’t argue. “Go on.”

“Like I said, I think he knows Æthelfrith from before Cenred’s rise. I might be wrong but that’s what it sounded like to me. We spent a long time talking about what we’ve planned here and what he’s going to do in Deira.”

Merlin looked almost rapt when he spoke of what his father was going to be doing. It was different to how Merlin had ever spoken of him before. It wasn’t that Merlin hadn’t been excited to be a dragonlord or that he hadn’t been glad of his change of fortune, it was just that now he seemed to finally be speaking of his father with pride.

“You’ve seen a new side to him,” Arthur guessed.

Merlin nodded. “I thought he was just rolling over and doing whatever Cenred wanted. But he isn’t. He says it’s a case of choosing your battles. He’s helped before, but it’s always been just the threat of the dragons backing up the sorcerers. Cenred’s never asked my father to actually go out and kill people, although I understand Lord Orn has done that for him a few times. This would have been a massacre.”

“But it’s not,” Gwaine confirmed. “So that’s why you’re all leaving. You’ll be going to Deira.”

“Mother will take you with us,” Merlin promised Ellie. “She’s looking forward to meeting you. The trouble is, tomorrow there will only be one dragon now. I was counting on my father being there so that he could help me get you all out.”

“What about this Lord Orn? He’s a dragonlord too,” Arthur pointed out. “Can’t he help?”

Merlin shook his head. “He’s not the same as the others. I’ve never liked him much. My father says they all had to band together after… um… the purge.” He looked at Arthur uncomfortably.

Arthur understood. He could see the whole picture a lot more clearly now. “You mean after _my_ father tried to wipe them all out. Ironic that they’ll be the ones saving us now.”

“Yes. Orn has never liked answering to my father. And he doesn’t have much magic, not like the others. I don’t know, my father didn’t go into details but it sounds as if Orn’s always been the outsider of the group. They aren’t sure whether he can be trusted. He might even attack us when I try to rescue you and Morgana… oh!” Merlin suddenly started scrabbling around in his pockets. “I have a note for you from Morgana.”

Arthur held out his hand eagerly as Merlin produced a small, folded-up piece of paper.

“Sorry, I got distracted after my father told me he was rebelling against Cenred. Morgana slipped this into Aithusa’s collar when we went to the castle yesterday. She looked really tired, which is strange because she talks about being able to sleep. Sorry, I read it,” he added, looking a little sheepish.

Arthur took the paper and unfolded it, reading the short note quickly.

_My dear brother_

_I pray this reaches you. It’s such a risk but the only way I can communicate. It was so good to hear from you and know that you are alive and well. I believe the dragon’s collar is a good way to communicate, obviously anyone would want to pet such an adorable creature. I have faith that you will find a way for us both to escape here. Although there is one good thing about my life here which is that I no longer dream and can now sleep through the night. My visions were a torture to me – remember how distressed I was when Gruffydd fell? I never want that to happen again. _

_Always your loving sister,_

_Morgana._

“She says we can use Aithusa to communicate,” Arthur mused.

Gwaine leaned over his shoulder, nosey as ever, and snatched the note from his hands. “What’s this, a love letter from Merlin? Don’t you two see each other often enough?”

“It’s from Morgana,” Arthur told him. “It’s her hand. Rather sentimental for her but I suppose that’s understandable.” He was a little surprised that it was only after receiving that information that Gwaine actually opened it up and read it. Gwaine wasn’t as brash and insensitive as he liked everyone to believe. Arthur watched his friend’s expression change as he read further down, from interest to dismay. Gwaine started shaking his head.

“Ah, no… no, no, no… It’s a trap, Arthur. We can’t go ahead tomorrow. It’s a trap.”

“What?” Merlin exclaimed.

“How can you tell?” Arthur demanded. “Just from that note, how can you tell?”

Gwaine handed the note back. “She knows I’m here and that we’re friends. She must have hoped you’d show this to me. It’s a trap, Arthur. Trust me on this. We need to get out of here, and we need to do it now. Merlin, can you break us out using your magic? Or get that sword? The dragons?”

“Tell me first how you know it’s a trap,” Arthur insisted. “You don’t even know Morgana!”

“Gruffydd,” Gwaine said simply. “They were ambushed on their way back from a servant’s wedding. Cenred and Morgause wouldn’t know that because they’d never lower themselves to go to such a thing and nobody cared where they’d been after the massacre. It was a small wedding in one of the villages for a favourite maid of my…of Queen Morwenna. But Morgana would know because she’d seen it all in her vision.”

“Oh Gwaine,” Ellie put her arms around him and held him close. “Your poor family. I’m so sorry.”

Arthur watched them, putting together the pieces that he’d been missing until that point about Gwaine. When Gwaine looked up again, Arthur nodded.

“I’m very sorry too. Your family were good people. I never recognised you. We were all told that you were dead. How did you get away?”

Gwaine gave a bitter laugh. “I was still back at the village with two of the girls there. The news came through and I had to get away. The villagers helped me escape, told everyone who came looking that I’d died with the rest of my family. Caerleon took over so fast, there was no chance for me to do anything else but run. It was such a slick operation, he must have been planning it for months. He’d been at court, watching us all the time.”

“I can guess exactly who’s watching us,” Arthur sighed. “Mordred. Though it isn’t as if we haven’t noticed his dislike for us all. Me especially.”

“So what do we do about it?” Gwaine asked. “Merlin, you’ve got magic. Can you do something to block what he does? Can you stop him?”

“There’s that spell Morgause uses,” Arthur reminded them. “She freezes you and you can’t move, then does whatever she likes.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Merlin told them sadly. “Sorry.”

Arthur had feared as much. “If he does that tomorrow, I won’t be able to fight back.”

“We should fight back right now!” Gwaine decided. “Come on. Ellie, not you, go and get your things together so that you can leave with Merlin afterwards.” When she hesitated he touched her arm gently. “Please, Ellie. I need to know you’re safe.”

Arthur looked away as they kissed, trying to give them a little privacy even if it was a bit too little too late.

“We should get the others,” Arthur decided. “Merlin, if we all break out now and get away, you can’t be here. You have to be able to claim to have had no part in it. You and the dragon could still rescue Morgana tomorrow. It might be a better plan than trying to free all of us. The simplest idea is often the best one.”

“I should have brought Excalibur,” Merlin sighed, watching Ellie go. “We could have got out easily.”

“Just go after Ellie,” Arthur urged. “Can you unlock all the gates so that we can follow you? Do you know a spell for that?”

“I learned that when I was just a child,” Merlin told him proudly. “Nothing was safe from me.”

“I’ll fetch the others,” Gwaine offered, heading for the door.

Merlin called to Aithusa, who had wandered off while they were talking and seemed to be trying to make a nest in Percival’s bed.

“I don’t like leaving Mordred here,” Arthur admitted. “What if he’s out in the arena tomorrow and he attacks you when you fly in?”

Merlin shrugged. “It’s my risk.”

“We should face him now. We could do it, you and I. He murdered Bedivere. I can’t let that pass. It’s a point of honour, Merlin.”

“Points of honour get men killed,” Merlin reminded him.

“Honour is a code to live by,” Arthur retorted. “And if he’s still active when we escape he’ll just stop us. Come on, I’m not asking you to kill him or anything. Just knock him out so that he can’t come after us. You could hide out of sight and use your magic, nobody would know that it was you.”

Merlin didn’t look too happy about it, but he agreed. They got up, walked across the room and opened the door.

“Hello Arthur. Merlin.” Morgause was standing in the corridor outside. Next to her, looking smugger than ever, was Mordred.

Arthur found that he couldn’t move. Merlin was standing just in front of him and seemed to be having the same problem. At Merlin’s feet Aithusa was chirping agitatedly up at him.

“Take the dragon,” Morgause ordered. Mordred picked Aithusa up and the little dragon started to cry and shriek, struggling in his arms. “Lock it up, Orn can deal with it tomorrow.”

“We could just kill the thing,” Mordred suggested.

Arthur felt a thrill of horror at that. Aithusa was just a baby, an innocent. But he couldn’t do or say anything.

“Just take it away. Talk to Dagr, he knows the place, he can lock her in a storeroom or something.”

Dagr. One of the guards that had supposedly been dismissed after the attack on Merlin. It wasn’t surprising, Arthur supposed. Dagr and Ebor had probably spent the week following Merlin around and not been dismissed at all. More double-crossing from Cenred and Morgause.

Mordred walked away, Aithusa still crying to get free. The sound tore at Arthur. Gwaine and Ellie were nowhere in sight, though Gwaine must have been seen. He’d only just left.

“Merlin,” Morgause said far too pleasantly. “I’m disappointed. I did explain that your magic was only being returned to you on condition that you were loyal to the king. It seems that wasn’t the case. Raise your arms.”

Merlin rather jerkily raised his arms up to her. Arthur guessed that it probably hadn’t been done willingly.

_“Behæpse fæst þás mægþ!”_ Morgause cried. Merlin’s wrists were suffused in a golden haze for a few moments. When it faded Arthur saw that the magical bindings were back in place.

“And now you’re as helpless as you ever were. Did you think for one moment that you were fooling anyone, Merlin? Passing notes to the queen via your little dragon? You idiot! Your father’s riding into a trap, by the way. Did you know that? If he fails to follow his orders the border guards have instructions to shoot him and that creature down. The other two dragonlords as well. We still have Orn who is loyal to the crown. Of course, should Balinor follow instructions then that won’t be necessary. He’s not going to though, is he?”

Merlin said nothing, of course.

“Oh and if you’re thinking your friends will help you, they’re already locked up. We just put the last one in with the others We don’t want them escaping and trying to help you either. You can all die in the arena tomorrow. Wyvern fodder. Not you though, Arthur Pendragon. One of my finest students will face you. People will see you fight and die in the arena. Nobody will suspect foul play because gladiators die in the arena all the time. What a fine wedding our sister will have!” Morgause paused, then raised her hand.

_“Ástríce!”_

Arthur felt something hit his chest, throwing him backwards into the dormitory, colliding with the nearest bed. Merlin cannoned into him a moment later and the door slammed shut. Arthur didn’t need to check it. He knew it would be locked.

Merlin turned and gazed at him sadly.

“This wasn’t part of any plan, was it?”

Arthur shook his head, reaching out to pull Merlin close, kissing the top of his head. There wasn’t really anything more to say.

\---

Morgana watched the sun setting over the city of Essetir from the small window in her room.

When the sun rose again in the morning she would have to go and stand with Cenred in the throne room, then agree to become his queen. His wife. The thought of that and all it entailed made her sick to the core.

Down in the courtyard below she could see people rushing around, all working hard to ensure that the castle was ready for the morning. There would be a procession after the ceremony, the townspeople lining the streets to wish their king and his new bride well. The procession would make its way through the city, going on a roundabout route to eventually reach the arena where the celebrations would start.

It would be no celebration for her.

Even if she had been happy about the wedding, the planned entertainment in the arena was a thing of horror.

Arthur was to fight another gladiator, one of Morgause’s students. If he was her student then he would have magic. Morgana hadn’t been gifted with their identity but she guessed that it would be the gladiator who had killed Sir Bedivere the previous weekend. He had barely concealed the fact that he had used magic to do so. Arthur wouldn’t stand a chance. And she would have to watch, looking to all the world as if she were emotionless about it because Morgause would compel her to be that way.

Morgana looked down at the jewelled cuffs on her wrists. A single tear splashed down on them and she quickly scrubbed her face with her hands, determined not to let the situation defeat her. But she couldn’t help wondering what her life would be like if she were allowed her magic back and was given a reliable tutor. She thought of Merlin and how he’d looked that day when his magic was restored. The shock of it all rushing back had almost been too much for him. But he was a dragonlord-to-be, he would have more power than her. All she had ever managed to do with her untrained magic was have bad dreams and be unable to sleep through the night. And she hadn’t even dared tell anyone about them so they were of no use at all.

There had been no word from Arthur or Merlin, no further attempts to use the baby dragon to communicate. She hoped that it was because they’d read her note and realised that it wasn’t safe at all. Gwaine would have realised, if he’d seen it. The mention of Gruffydd was the only cryptic thing she could think of that Morgause and Cenred couldn’t possibly understand, and then it was reliant on Arthur trusting Gwaine enough to let him see it. It wasn’t as if Morgause hadn’t already realised Merlin and Arthur were working together. Morgana’s original message had ensured that was the case. And anyway, Morgause had been suspicious enough about Merlin to have him tailed. The note probably didn’t really make any difference. Still, Morgana felt horribly guilty about writing it at all, which was doubtless Morgause’s intention. But she’d had no choice. Gwen would have been beaten, or worse.

As it was Gwen had vanished. Morgana had not seen her since mid-afternoon when Gwen had gone off with a pile of laundry. She should have been back hours since. Perhaps she had found an opportunity to run away and had done so. Morgana not only wouldn’t have blamed her at all for doing that, she would actually have been glad. Her fondness for her sweet maid was something that Cenred could use against her. Eventually Gwen might come to hate Morgana because of what Gwen was forced to endure, and that would be unbearable.

Gwen probably hadn’t run away though, and Morgana knew it. She had probably been locked up somewhere in case she _did_ try to escape, and would be used the next day to ensure Morgana behaved.

That made her feel guilty too. It felt as if she was indirectly harming everyone left in the world that she cared about. And there was nothing that she could do about it.

Morgana could do nothing but wait in the darkening room, alone. She wished that the morning would never come.

\---

Merlin had not come home.

Hunith had lost count of the number of times that she had gone to the window and checked, but there was no sign of him. He’d ridden into the city that morning, there was no good reason for him to be so late. Plenty of bad ones though.

He was supposed to have brought that girl back as well, the one who was to be freed and then work as Hunith’s maid. Hunith hadn’t even met the girl but just took Merlin’s word for it. Perhaps she had overpowered him and he was lying injured somewhere, robbed of all his possessions? Perhaps his horse had been stolen, or had become lame? Perhaps there had been an accident at the arena and Merlin was still trying to heal some poor gladiator?

“Still nothing?” Rose asked. “Try not to worry, he’s a young man, he’s probably gone to the tavern or something.”

But her Merlin wouldn’t have done that. Especially not with Aithusa in tow. He might have been foolish with her safety at the games the previous week but Hunith was certain he would be more careful in future. And Merlin was far too interested in Arthur Pendragon to want to go anywhere he was not. It was more likely that Merlin was detained at the arena for some reason than the tavern.

The royal wedding was the following morning and Merlin should have been back earlier to prepare for all they had to do. It wasn’t a night to come home late, not with such a big day tomorrow.

Gaius had gone to bed so she couldn’t ask his advice. Even if he was awake there would be little that he could do. They could hardly ride down to the arena in the middle of the night and search for him. They wouldn’t know where to start. And Rose, nice as she was, really didn’t have a clue. None of them knew Essetir city at all well, being very new citizens. There was no way to contact Balinor, Alator or Finna, they were all too far away, and Balinor had told her that he didn’t think Orn was to be trusted. Hunith knew that she would just have to wait until morning and hope they would get back early.

Hopefully by then Merlin would have long since returned.

Hunith settled herself in a chair by the fire, and prepared for a long night.

\---

The first time that Morgause took his magic away had been awful. But it was nothing compared to the second time. Merlin felt as if he was looking at the world from behind a glass screen, unable to properly interact with it any more.

Nurtured by the tuition he had been receiving from the dragonlords and Gaius, his magic had been developing rapidly in a very short period of time. It had felt as if his magic was growing, expanding with each lesson. Alator and Finna had been pretty embarrassing about it if he were honest. They profusely praised every single advance his magical ability made, and also both kept quoting ancient texts about the time of Albion and the foretelling of the arrival of Emrys. He preferred Gaius, who would just raise an eyebrow at the other two and then criticise whatever spell making Merlin had just attempted. And then he’d find that he needed some supplies or other and tell Merlin to pick them up for him on his way to or from the arena. There was always a chore of some sort after a lesson from Gaius. No chance of getting above himself. He was glad of that, trapped as he was. If he’d been allowed to listen to the two dragonlords adoring him without question, he would probably have an ego the size of a house by that stage and be totally unprepared to cope with what had happened. It was difficult enough as it was.

“Is it any better yet?” Arthur asked. Ever since they’d been locked in there Arthur had been alternating between trying to force the door open and trying to help Merlin. “You’re not shaking now. That’s got to be a good sign, hasn’t it?”

The shock of having his magic trapped again had brought on a physical reaction. Merlin had been trembling uncontrollably at first, unable to get up and help Arthur. Not that it would have done much good. Morgause had probably sealed the door with magic and they wouldn’t get out no matter what they did. It seemed as if Arthur might have given up. He sat down on the bed beside Merlin, watching him with concern.

“It’s a bit better, but it’s still horrible,” Merlin tried to explain. “My magic is still there, but it’s as if it’s behind a shield and I can’t get to it. And it’s like I’m detached from the whole world as if I can’t feel anything properly.”

“Can you feel this?” Arthur whispered, leaning in to kiss him on the lips, long and deep.

As Merlin moved into the kiss, warmed by Arthur’s presence, he let Arthur take him in his arms. The single, solitary good thing about their situation was that they would finally have some time alone together. Merlin had dreamt of a night with Arthur, though never under the current circumstances. He’d thought of them both being free, far away from Essetir. Or even in Merlin’s luxurious room on Balinor’s estate.

Instead they were locked up together in what might well be the last night of their lives. He pulled away from Arthur at the thought, choking back on a sob. It wasn’t for himself, but the idea of brave, beautiful Arthur no longer part of the world was unbearable.

“Merlin?” Arthur gently tried to pull him back into an embrace. “Oh don’t cry. Come on Merlin, we’re not dead yet!”

“We can’t get out of this!” Merlin told him. “We needed my magic, we needed Faerova and we needed Excalibur! We have none of those things! And my father isn’t here, he won’t get back and realise what’s happening until it’s all too late. And your poor sister is… oh, I can’t even think about what will happen to her! And Aithusa… I was supposed to look after her. She was going to grow up as my dragon. Mordred and Morgause have locked her up somewhere and she’ll be frightened and hungry. What if she dies? I don’t know how strong she is. She’s only a few weeks old, Arthur!”

“Shhh…” Arthur put his arms round Merlin, pulling him in close. “She’ll be all right. She’s strong, and she’s always eating. She’ll manage until morning. They wouldn’t dare harm a baby dragon, those things are sacred to any magic user. So don’t worry about Aithusa. You can’t do anything about it.”

“I can’t do anything full stop!” Merlin replied bitterly, holding up his bound wrists. “Look at me! I might as well be a slave again. So much for being the most powerful sorcerer to ever live!”

Arthur pulled back a little, and regarded him with surprise. “The what?”

_Ah._ Merlin suddenly realised that perhaps he hadn’t shared that little nugget with Arthur. He’d told Arthur all about Arthur’s own place in the prophecies, and that Merlin was supposed to be with him for it. Arthur had been sceptical but accepted it, largely because Arthur needed something positive and hopeful in his life to focus on.

“Um… that was part of the prophecy,” he explained awkwardly. “My part. That’s why I was supposed to be at your side. Your sorcerer. Nonsense, obviously. Morgause overpowered me with ease.”

Arthur gave a wry smile. “My sorcerer,” he repeated. “If my father had heard that just a month or two ago you’d have been roasting on the pyre. Or perhaps longer… I think he had reconsidered his opinion by the end.”

Merlin took Arthur’s hands, recognising when his lover was hurting. It would be a long, long time before Arthur was going to get over what Cenred had ordered be done to Uther. Most likely he would never get over it. Merlin didn’t think that he would get over it if that had happened to his beloved mother.

“I think so too,” Merlin told him. “I know… I heard all the stories about him. But that wasn’t what I saw myself and it isn’t what I will remember of him.”

“It was true though. It’s what he did,” Arthur said sadly. “I wish things had been different. Imagine if you’d come to Camelot to train with Gaius. We’d have known each other for years.”

Merlin smiled at the thought. “I’d probably have thought you were a spoiled prat of a prince!”

Arthur shrugged, smiling too. “I probably was. You’d have kept me in line.”

“You’d have kept me in the stocks!” Merlin retorted.

“I’d have loved you,” Arthur whispered. “I do love you.”

Merlin gazed at Arthur, seeing the truth and sincerity there in his beautiful blue eyes. It was hard to comprehend that somehow Merlin had won himself the love of a prince. A prince that he loved himself without question.

“Merlin?” Arthur prompted after a moment or two had passed with Merlin just staring at his love. “Say something.”

“Oh! Um… I love you too, I mean you… yes. I do. Love you. Yes”

Arthur stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. When Merlin looked affronted that just made Arthur laugh harder.

“It’s not funny!”

“Merlin,” Arthur gasped. “You have no clue! None! At least I know I won’t lose you to another love because honestly your wooing skills are hopeless. Hopeless!” He leaned forward to capture Merlin’s mouth again.

When they broke apart, Merlin tried hard to raise one eyebrow in that disapproving way that Gaius had. It didn’t seem to work because Arthur just laughed again.

“It worked on you, didn’t it, clotpole?” Merlin growled, then gave a squeak of surprise as Arthur pounced on him, kissing him again and manoeuvring him down onto the lumpy mattress of the bed they were sitting on.

“Who’s a clotpole?”

Merlin didn’t bother arguing because with Arthur stretched out above him like that he knew he would agree to anything. Besides, there were better things to do with their mouths.

“If this is my last night on earth,” Arthur told him, resting his forehead lightly on Merlin’s, “I’m glad at least that I get to spend it with you.”

“Same,” Merlin replied, watching as Arthur sat up and pulled his own shirt off, flinging it to the floor then gazing lovingly down at Merlin, a question in his eyes.

“The beds are too small,” Merlin murmured.

Arthur grinned at him and got to his feet. “Just wait, don’t say I don’t provide for you!”

Merlin sat up, wondering what Arthur was going to do. That question was soon answered when Arthur started pushing the beds around. He lined up three of the narrow single beds side by side, and started to tie them together with whatever he could find. One of Gwaine’s shirts was being used, then Galahad’s belt…

Merlin grabbed a random item of clothing, jumped down and started to help on the other side of the makeshift giant bed.

“It’s fit for a king!” Arthur declared when they had finished.

It really wasn’t. The bedding hadn’t been washed for weeks and didn’t even fit properly over the three lumpy mattresses. The pillows were stained and flat. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Arthur.

“Royal treatment,” Merlin agreed. “Cenred himself wouldn’t get anything better.”

Arthur grinned, pulling him closer and claiming his lover's mouth, pushing him down onto the mattress. “He wouldn’t because he wouldn’t have you,” Arthur breathed, gazing lovingly at the man beneath him. “You can keep all the royal mattresses and fine linen. I don’t care about that. Just being with you, that’s all. Gods, Merlin, you have no idea how much I want you.”

Merlin looked back at Arthur, wondering how Arthur could possibly believe that. Merlin knew all about wanting and needing. “I think about you all the time,” he admitted. “I do know. Even that first day when you were being such a prat, I still thought you were the most handsome man I’d ever seen.”

Arthur laughed at that. “Am I not a prat any more, Merlin? I’m sure I’ve heard you insult me plenty of times since then.”

Merlin reached up to kiss him again. “Always. But you’re my prat.”

“So what does that make you?” Arthur teased, his hands roaming under Merlin’s shirt, exploring the warm skin beneath it. The touch of his hands, rough and calloused from years of sword-fighting, felt like coming home.

“Horny,” Merlin admitted. “Get these clothes off!”

Arthur laughed and sat up, straddling him. He took hold of Merlin’s shirt and helped him wriggle out of it, struggling a little with the awkward angle, then Merlin threw it aside once it was off. Arthur’s own shirt quickly followed, then Arthur sat back, untying his breeches and sliding them off. They were flung aside just like the shirt. Merlin had been trying to undo his own breeches but the sight of Arthur, glorious and naked and half hard and _his_ made him pause.

“Like what you see?”

Cocky to the last, Merlin thought. But then, Arthur was beautiful. All toned muscle from a lifetime spent keeping himself as fit and active as possible.

“If I answered that you’d just be more big-headed than ever,” Merlin told him, smiling. “Just hurry up and help me with these.”

The ties on Merlin’s breeches had been proving difficult, though Merlin suspected it was partly his own nerves and excitement at finally getting to be with Arthur. Arthur batted Merlin’s hands away and took over, his deft, sure fingers making short work of the laces and quickly divesting Merlin of the breeches.

“Better,” Arthur sighed.

Merlin felt suddenly shy. He could hardly compare with Arthur, all golden and muscular, whilst Merlin was pale and skinny. He tried to cover himself with his hands, but Arthur pushed them aside.

“Ah, no, let me look at you… you’re beautiful, you know that don’t you?”

Merlin didn’t know any such thing, but Arthur was looking at him with such love, such adoration that it was hard to argue. Clearly Arthur was wrong… but then Arthur had many times claimed jokingly that he was _never_ wrong.

Arthur leaned down, kissing Merlin again, working his way down his throat, his chest... Merlin threw his head back and gave himself up to the sensations as Arthur's hungry mouth engulfed his cock. It stopped far too soon and left Merlin gasping for more.

"Don't stop!"

“As if I would,” Arthur whispered, reaching down and taking Merlin in hand, his eyes never leaving Merlin’s face. Merlin could see himself reflected back in Arthur’s eyes as Arthur’s strong hand worked him. He reached for Arthur, who shifted to give him a better angle, then they both worked each other. There was, Merlin thought, no better view than a naked Arthur by torchlight, roused and breathless.

Merlin writhed in the bed, very close now. Arthur moved his hand faster, harder and Merlin came with a sudden cry, spilling over Arthur's hand and his own stomach. Merlin lay back, unable to move for a moment, just enjoying the afterglow. Merlin felt as if his whole body was singing. If Arthur had wanted to make him feel again after losing his magic, he’d certainly succeeded. But Arthur hadn’t come, and was stroking himself while Merlin was recovering from his orgasm. Merlin reached out to stop him.

“No, let me.”

They shifted so that their positions were reversed and it was Arthur lying there on the bed. Merlin took him in hand with a few long hard strokes, enjoying the sounds his actions were eliciting from Arthur. He knew his hand was never going to be as strong as Arthur’s but that didn’t matter. Arthur’s head was thrown back and he arched up into Merlin’s grasp, slick with pre-come. Arthur’s cock was such a magnificent sight, thick and muscular. Merlin paused, and heard Arthur moan in protest, but that turned into a sigh as Merlin’s mouth closed over Arthur’s cock.

“Gods…”

Merlin worked Arthur with his mouth, taking him in as deep as he could, gazing adoringly up at his lover from under his eyelashes as he did so. Arthur moaned desperately, his hips trembling as he fought against the natural urge to thrust upwards.

“So good… gods, your mouth, Merlin… your mouth...”

Whatever else Arthur murmured was incoherent and a few moments later he tried to push Merlin’s head away.

“I’m going to come… Merlin…”

Merlin licked and sucked, swirling his tongue over the head of Arthur’s cock. It was just enough to send Arthur over the edge. Merlin swallowed down every last drop.

“Merlin…” Arthur sighed, pulling Merlin towards him, then burying his face in Merlin's neck in a bruising kiss, marking him. “My Merlin…”

They were sticky from Merlin’s come. Eventually Arthur sat up and grabbed a sheet to clean them with, wiping tenderly at Merlin's stomach, alternating the wipes with little licks and kisses. Merlin wriggled and laughed, his sensitised skin making him ticklish, until Arthur relented and lay back, pulling Merlin into his arms.

"All good?"

"Perfect,” Merlin replied. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Arthur told him. He sounded so sincere Merlin almost wanted to cry. Arthur would have laughed and laughed at that, Merlin thought. Or perhaps not.

They lay like that for a few moments, then Arthur pulled Merlin close, kissing him slowly. Arthur’s sweet taste was something Merlin didn’t think he would ever get enough of.

“I could spend the rest of my life with you, like this,” Arthur whispered as they broke apart. “I wouldn’t want for anything else. We could live far away from here. Raise sheep and cows on a farm and never have to worry about kingdoms and fighting. We’d just be blissfully happy.”

“Sounds good. I wish I had forever with you,” Merlin murmured, half asleep. “I’d take you across the world. We’d ride one of the dragons. Faerova, you’d like her. We’d see such things. Such wonders…”

“If only we did have forever,” Arthur agreed, snuggling up closer. “We’d never be apart.”

Merlin closed his eyes, secure in the warmth of Arthur’s arms despite their situation. He wished that the morning would never come.

\---


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur woke to the sounds of shouting and banging outside. That wasn’t unusual for a morning in the arena dormitory where he had slept for the past few weeks.

It _was_ unusual not to be woken by the sound of Leon snoring or Gwaine farting, or Percival cursing because he’d rolled over and hit his head on the wall like he always did every single morning. But mostly it was unusual to have Merlin’s warm body curled against his. He was the best thing to wake up to though.

Beside him, Merlin was waking up too. It was impossible not to with the noise. Not just outside the dorm and under the arena. There were sounds above them as well. The room was underneath the stands, on the very edge of the arena. Noise could be the audience coming in, or waiting impatiently outside. Merlin opened his eyes, blinking sleepily at Arthur. The two very small skylights high in the wall on one side of the dorm never provided much light, but it was enough to allow Arthur to see Merlin’s face. The torches had long since expired and it was far better than the pitch blackness of the single cell where he’d spent the night with Merlin before.

“Morning,” Merlin said shyly. Arthur didn’t bother speaking, capturing Merlin’s mouth with his own. At any moment the door could fly open and they might be dragged apart, never to meet again. He wanted every last moment that he could get with his love.

Outside, someone was going along and banging on the dormitory doors, yelling at the occupants to get up and ready for the day. Reluctantly Arthur broke away from Merlin.

“We should dress, I wouldn’t put it past them to send me out naked against Mordred.”

“I know.” Merlin kissed him one last time, then sat up, his shoulders slumped with regret. Arthur sympathised. In another world they would have stayed there in bed all day, exploring each other and blocking out everything else. But that was not to be.

Arthur watched Merlin for a few moments as his lover padded around the room, trying to find their clothes.

“These are yours, I think,” Merlin flung a worn pair of breeches at Arthur, who caught them just before they hit him in the face. “And this!”

A shirt headed towards him but Arthur was ready to catch it that time. Arthur was tempted to get up, find every loose item of clothing in the room and start flinging it at Merlin in retaliation, claiming it was Merlin’s, but Merlin had already found his own clothes and was pulling them on.

“I prefer you naked,” Arthur told him, loving the shy smile Merlin gave him for that, and the way a faint blush coloured Merlin’s complexion.

“Same,” Merlin told him, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his boots and starting to lace them up. “But you can’t fight like that. The crowd would be driven insane with lust.”

Arthur laughed, though it wasn’t funny. The battle ahead of him was hopeless, but Arthur was never one to turn away from a fight. He recalled Bedivere the previous week falling in the dust, made to look as if he were a poor swordsman. A death without honour.

“I’ll burn this place to the ground,” Arthur swore.

Merlin stopped lacing up his boots and looked round at him, puzzled.

“When I retake Camelot, I’ll come back here and destroy this place,” Arthur clarified. “Too many innocent people have died here. It’s not sport, it’s murder. The place stinks of blood and death.”

Merlin didn’t say anything, just gazed at him sadly, then went back to lacing up his boots.

“Your father might get back in time,” Arthur continued. “You might find a way to escape and get the dragons.”

“Anything can happen,” Merlin agreed. He finished lacing his boots and stood up. He didn’t sound as if he were agreeing.

“Yes it can. As long as we keep fighting and don’t give up.” Arthur persisted. He wrapped his arms around his lover, burying his face in Merlin’s neck. There was a faint mark there on the pale skin where Arthur had claimed his territory the night before. “Promise me you won’t give up, Merlin. Even if I’m gone, someone needs to stop Cenred, and help Morgana.”

Merlin nodded. “I’ll do what I can. But I don’t think they’ll let me get away from here, Arthur. They know I’m loyal to you.”

Outside there was more shouting. It was definitely getting closer this time, heading for them.

“That’s Morgause,” Merlin told him. “I can feel it when she’s near. These” – he broke away from Arthur and held up his wrists to show the iron cuffs that bound them – “have her magic in them. I think she’s made them stronger this time. They’re sensitive to her.”

That couldn’t be a good sign. But there was no time to ponder it. The door to the dorm opened to reveal Morgause standing there flanked by Dagr and Ebor.

“Take the false dragonlord,” she ordered the two ex-guards.

Arthur found himself unable to move, a victim of Morgause’s apparently favourite compulsion spell once more. He could only watch as the two men strode across the room and grabbed hold of Merlin, dragging him across the room. Merlin struggled but there were two of them and they were both physically stronger.

As he reached the door Merlin looked back at Arthur one last time, his expression desperately afraid though which of them that was for Arthur didn’t know. Both, probably.

Arthur wondered if he would ever see Merlin again.

\---

The place he was taken to was a part of the arena that Merlin had never seen.

Merlin knew where he was, of course. He’d seen the other side of the place on numerous occasions. It was the large platform lift that had been set up near the centre of the arena. Sometimes it was used for the spectacle of bringing up particularly exotic creatures to fight gladiators, other less exotic creatures, or simply to massacre helpless prisoners. More often it was used to lift groups of prisoners up into the arena ready for slaughter. It was different to the smaller gladiator lift as there were bars all around it when it was beneath the arena, a cage with a single door. The public didn’t see it because the platform within would rise up past them, sealing flush against the arena floor. Merlin had never seen it from below before, though he’d heard about it. Nobody had ever broken out of it. Not a single human victim had survived whatever horror awaited them in the arena above.

Ebor unlocked the cage door then held it open for Dagr to throw Merlin inside. He managed to just about stay upright, staggering to a halt as the door was slammed shut and locked behind him.

“I hear it’s wyverns, _dragonlord,”_ Dagr sneered through the bars. “Let’s see how you deal with them!”

“They’re like dragons,” Ebor added. “Hungry ones!”

“I saw one bite a man’s head off once,” Dagr continued. “I bet a fake dragonlord is a real delicacy for them.”

“You’ll have a little time,” Ebor told him. “Your boyfriend’s getting skewered first. You’ll probably hear his screams from down here.”

“Pity your father won’t get to see it,” Dagr growled. “Serves him right for trying to get us sacked over a stupid little arena whore. That’s what you were, in the end. And for a Pendragon.”

“My father will kill you for this,” Merlin told them. “You have one chance. Release me now, and I won’t tell him of your part in this. If you let this happen my father will hunt you down and set the great dragon on you. It won’t be your head he bites off first. That’s too quick.”

Dagr pressed his face to the bars, the hatred in his eyes plain to see. “Your father, or whatever he was, is dead. Or if he isn’t then he soon will be. The king knows all about his plans to form an alliance with Deira. He didn’t trust you from the start. You’ve been followed. Your family has been followed. The king has eyes and ears everywhere, even down here. Your father and those other two traitorous dragonlords are riding into a trap. They won’t have made it over the border. They’ll have been shot down, the dragons too.”

Merlin fought to stop the panic and horror that he felt from showing in his expression. That was what they wanted, after all.

“You have nothing to worry about then,” was all he said.

Dagr looked as if he might have said more, but there was a commotion behind him and they all looked to see Valiant enter. He had Gwen with him, her hands tied together. She was struggling to get away from him, fighting hard to make every step as difficult as possible. But he was bigger and stronger and she was making no headway.

“Another one for the pot!” Valiant told his friends cheerfully. “A special wedding present for our new queen.”

“Bit of a waste,” Dagr commented, looking Gwen up and down. She twisted away from him, then saw Merlin and froze, horrified.

“Merlin…”

“Friends reunion,” Valiant grinned nastily. “Open the door, gentlemen.”

Gwen had evidently decided that she would rather be in a cage with Merlin than outside it with three brutes. She had stopped struggling and walked in with her head held high before any of them could try to force her in there.

“Fiesty,” Dagr commented. “A waste, as I said. Are you sure we don’t have time to get to know her better?”

Gwen gave him a look filled with more hatred than Merlin had ever thought his gentle friend was capable of. “I’d prefer the wyverns.”

“Well you’ll get your wish,” Valiant told her, then turned to Dagr and Ebor. “There’s no time,” he told them. “The others have to be herded up here. Lady Morgause wouldn’t spare her magic and she’s left us to deal with them. Six of them, all gladiators. Have you _seen_ that Percival?”

Ebor scowled. “Seen him? He nearly broke out of Helios’ school twice! No wonder they were so eager to sell him on.”

Valiant regarded the cage dubiously. “We’ll never get them all down here. Even one at a time they’ll wait until enough of them are in and then overpower us when we open the door for the next one. No, herd them up to the gladiator gate, let them think they’re going to be fighting.”

Merlin exchanged a worried glance with Gwen. They could both guess who was being discussed.

“It’s going to be a fine wedding celebration,” they heard Ebor say as the three men walked away. “Blood, guts and a dead prince. Legendary.”

The second that the trio were out of sight, Merlin and Gwen hugged each other tightly. The two friends hadn’t been able to talk freely to each other in weeks.

“I have so much to tell you but no time,” Merlin said, releasing her and looking her up and down. “Did they hurt you? You look so tired.”

Gwen gave a bitter laugh. “Thanks, Merlin! But yes, I’ve not slept properly in days. Morgause had me locked in a room at the castle. They’ve been using me as a threat to ensure Morgana does as they wish today. I suppose by now my poor dear lady has been forced to marry that monster and I’ve outlived my usefulness.”

“I was with Arthur,” Merlin told her. “We’d come up with a plan to get away and rescue Morgana at the same time. But they found out.”

“You were being followed,” Gwen confirmed. “We couldn’t tell you. I wasn’t allowed to leave the castle once I entered their service. They knew that we were friends and guessed that I would warn you.”

“We thought Morgana’s note was telling us that it was a trap.”

“She couldn’t put any more details in. Did you know that Gwaine is the heir to the Caerleon throne? Well, he was until the last king slaughtered his family. Still is now, I suppose, now that family is dead. Gwaine though… Imagine!”

Merlin nodded. “We were all surprised. The king of taverns.”

“And you’re a dragonlord!” She looked down at his wrists, seeing the cuffs back in place. “No chance of you getting us out of here then?”

“Not with these on,” Merlin confirmed. He hadn’t even tried to get free. He had experienced three years of the things and knew it was hopeless. “I don’t know what to do, Gwen. I’m sorry you’re caught up in this, I feel responsible.”

She hugged him again. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Merlin. And I got myself into this. I was the one who applied to become Morgana’s maid. Nobody made me do that. And knowing her, and knowing you… even very briefly knowing Arthur… I’d rather be on the side of right.”

Merlin clung onto her. They’d been friends almost since he first arrived in Essetir. Kind and welcoming, Gwen was his dearest friend and it broke his heart what was about to happen to her.

The door to the room burst open again and Valiant appeared. He was holding onto a struggling Ellie, gripping her by the back of the neck. She had what looked like the beginnings of a black eye. Valiant’s free hand was bleeding. Ebor rushed past him and opened the door to the cage. Ellie did not go quietly or easily, kicking at her tormentors and twisting her head, shrieking loudly and trying to get away.

“Little bitch!” Valiant snarled, slamming the cage door on her. “You’ll get what you deserve. And I’ll make sure your stupid boyfriend’s there to see it!”

“Gwaine’s worth a thousand of you!” Ellie yelled, following it up with a curse that she had to have learned from Gwaine. “He’d beat you in a fair fight! Every single time!”

The door closed behind Valiant, who did not even bother to retaliate. Ellie’s shoulders slumped and she turned to her friends, who instantly pulled her into a three-way hug.

“What happened?” Merlin asked, gently stroking Ellie’s hair away from her eye. “That looks painful.”

“I bit him!” Ellie told them proudly. “He shouldn’t even be down here. He’s a free man.”

“The king hired him to spy on Merlin and Arthur. Dagr and Ebor too,” Gwen explained.

“I saw them with Morgause last night,” Ellie said to Merlin. “When I came back with my things I saw them all. But it was too late – they’d locked you in and taken Gwaine. I’ve been hiding. Nobody noticed I was missing because everyone thought I’d gone home with you, Merlin. But your little dragon was crying and crying all night. I couldn’t bear it, she’s so sweet and sounded so frightened. So I let her out and that was when they caught me.”

Merlin felt his heart clench with fear. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know.

“I’m sorry, Ellie. And… what happened to Aithusa?”

Ellie shook her head. “I don’t know. Last I saw she was heading down one of the access tunnels. I don’t know if she made it or not. I hope she did.”

“And Gwaine?” Gwen asked. “What about him? You said they took him. What about my brother and the others?”

“They’ve all been locked up. I think we’re all going to be the main entertainment today,” Ellie said sadly.

Gwen hugged her close again. “Entertainment isn’t the word that I’d use. Gods, I hope my father doesn’t come to the arena today. For him to see this…”

Merlin stared down at his bound wrists. So much for being the great Emrys. He wondered if any of the prophecies told of his impending death.

Eaten by wyverns. It wasn’t much of a legend.

\---

Morgana took her place on the royal balcony, looking down over the arena.

She was dressed in a long, fitted white gown, a sparkling tiara crowning her long dark tresses. Apparently she looked beautiful. It was what people kept telling her.

Morgana did not feel beautiful. She felt beaten, broken. Every single thing that she cared about had been taken from her and was about to be destroyed.

Gwen had not reappeared.

Morgana had been nurturing the faint hope that once Morgana had actually gone ahead with the wedding Cenred and Morgause would return her maidservant. They had not. Two other girls had come to Morgana’s room that morning and dressed her. They had done something elaborate with her hair, pulling most of it back from her face and letting it cascade down over her shoulders in soft waves. And then they’d buttoned up the dress and placed the tiara on her head. A small bouquet was given to her to carry, and then she was ready.

After that, Morgana didn’t really remember much. It had all been a blur of faces. So many people to walk past. So much pomp and ceremony. And she herself might as well have been a doll, standing there with nothing to say. Words were not needed, not from the bride.

In Camelot, when a woman married, she had been a part of the event. The woman had agreed to marry the man, and vice versa. A joining together of lives. A happy event. It was different in Essetir. But then, everything was different in Essetir.

“Behold, your queen!” Cenred had told the assembled crowd. They had cheered, but she had no doubt that those cheers were for him, not her.

Later she had been placed on a horse and paraded through the crowded streets like a trophy. Cenred was smiling and waving on his own horse beside hers. He barely looked at her. Morgause rode behind them, always there, a silent threat. The threat was to Gwen, that had been made quite clear.

And so Morgana smiled, and smiled until her face hurt, waving to the crowds. All the while there had been the arena looming in the distance, waiting for her. And then finally she had reached it.

Just as she had on the last occasion, she stood there smiling and waving. If they loved her, perhaps they would pity her and pressure Cenred to spare her brother. It was only the very slightest of hopes.

Below them, Kanen, the master of the arena, was making his speech. Tribute after tribute to the king, to the lawful union of old and powerful kingdoms, to her beauty, then to the king again. And so it went on.

“And now,” Kanen called finally, “the celebratory games will begin! And first of all we have a very special match. It’s one you’ve all been waiting for…”

There were two gaps in the arena floor. Small ones, those that only lifted in a single person at a time. Two figures were slowly being raised up to centre stage. One dark-haired man, one blonde.

Morgana held her breath, silently praying to any gods who might listen that the blonde would not be Arthur.

Her prayers went unanswered.

\---

Arthur kept his head bowed as he was carried up into the arena, not looking up until the lift shuddered to a stop.

He wanted to present himself as calm, respectful. Perhaps the crowd would see him as a warrior praying to his gods before battle and a few would like him for that? Many, having seen him fight before and not realised that his opponent would be cheating by using magic, might well have wagered on him emerging victorious. In a fair fight Arthur Pendragon was always one of the surest bets, after all. But this was not a fair fight.

Opposite him, some ten or more yards away, Mordred was also being carried up. He wore a small amount of armour, a silver breastplate with the king’s distinctive snake emblem engraved in the centre, and a crested helmet. In contrast, Arthur was bare-chested as was the custom in the arena, and had only a sword and shield to protect him.

Arthur had no doubt as to the purpose of the helmet. Nobody would be able to see Mordred’s eyes glow gold when he used his magic to win. He wondered if Cedric had provided Mordred with it? Cedric had been notably absent when Arthur was preparing to enter the arena. Arthur supposed that was because he had been with Mordred instead. Mordred, who would have the favour of the king and who would be the one Cedric was most concerned with. Arthur didn’t care – Cedric tended to be far too touchy when faced with a muscular, bare-chested gladiator. Mordred was welcome to him.

Kanen was talking to the crowd about the fight, telling them that the fight was to honour their new queen. He didn’t mention that Arthur was her half-brother, or that Morgana was up there on the royal balcony watching proceedings with a fearful look on her face. She cut a forlorn figure in her white dress, her new husband ignoring her as far as Arthur could see. Not that being ignored by Cenred would necessarily be a bad thing. Arthur raised a hand in salute to her. She returned the gesture, lowering it at what appeared to be a sharp word from Morgause.

Arthur wished he could help her. He wished he could help Merlin, and their friends whom he knew had to be locked up somewhere nearby.

Kanen was still talking. Arthur half-listened, but mostly he was concentrating on Mordred, and also on looking for anything that might be of use in the fight. The man could not be trusted to wait for Kanen to announce the start of the fight. Fairness was just not in his nature.

They were the first fight, so the arena was less unpleasant than usual. Often animals were used in the first event and depending on what that event entailed there was usually blood and shit to contend with for all the acts that followed. Workers would rush out trying to cover it with sawdust between events, but they rarely succeeded and it became an added hazard for those embroiled in battle out there.

Mordred was facing him, but it was near impossible to tell what his expression might be. The helmet kept most of his face covered and only his mouth and chin were easily visible. His sword looked shiny and new. Arthur supposed it was not going to be one of the arena stock weapons like the one Arthur had been forced to pick up.

Somewhere there was a magical sword that Merlin had created especially for Arthur, but there was no point in thinking of that now.

The crowd suddenly gave a collective gasp of awe, looking up. Arthur followed their gaze. Over their heads, circling the arena was a green dragon. For a brief moment Arthur hoped that perhaps it signalled the arrival of Merlin’s father. But the dragon was riderless, and after circling once more it flew away.

“…such a thrilling match that even the dragons have come to watch!” Kanen continued. “And we have dragons for you later, that was just a taster! We have wyverns too, and…”

Arthur tuned out again. Kanen tended to go on and on.

“That dragon’s a sign,” Mordred called over to him. “Dragons are creatures of magic. They hate your family. Your father tried to wipe them from the land.”

They didn’t all hate him, Arthur thought. There was Aithusa who would always come to him gladly, especially if he had food that she could entice him into giving up. Aithusa, who was always there with Merlin. Merlin, who might already have been executed, and perhaps Aithusa too. The thought of losing them cut at him worse than any sword ever could.

He didn’t rise to Mordred’s goading. But Kanen was winding up his speech, and the crowd were cheering their support for whichever man they were gambling on.

Arthur raised his sword, and prepared to fight for his life.

\---

As soon as the first light of dawn had broken over the horizon, Hunith had sent two of Balinor’s servants down into the city to search for Merlin. She wanted to ride in herself, but as Gaius pointed out she had never been into the city and would have no idea where to start looking. People who had lived there for years would be much better suited to the task.

It had been many hours since they left, and neither of the servants had returned.

Tellingly, Orn had not come looking for Merlin so that they could both ride in together. It could have been because Orn just didn’t like Merlin very much, or that he wanted his dragon to appear at the arena first and get all the prestige. But Hunith suspected it was simply that Orn knew Merlin wouldn’t be there. Orn’s black dragon was nowhere to be seen. Hunith knew that it would be down in the city, along with its rider.

“I hate feeling this helpless,” Hunith sighed. Gaius and herself were standing out on the main drive of the estate, waiting. “Something has happened to him, I know it.”

“He’s a clever boy,” Gaius told her reassuringly, but his words sounded hollow and unconvincing. Gaius was almost as worried as she was, she could see it in his face.

She had brought down the sword from Merlin’s room. It had been wrapped up in protective cloth but she unwrapped it briefly, letting it shine in the sun. It was heavy, as were most swords, but she found that she was able to lift it without difficulty, as if the sword itself gave her strength. She could feel the magic in it.

“Merlin was going to take this for Arthur today,” she sighed, wrapping the sword back up and laying it on the ground. “I know he would have come home if he could. The man Arthur is facing in the arena uses magic. Only a magical weapon would be any use against him.”

The fact that Gaius wasn’t disagreeing with her only served to heighten her concern.

“Arthur is a great warrior,” he told her. “If they’re together then they’ll keep each other safe. You know how the prophecy goes.”

Hunith knew. Hunith had no choice but to know. She liked Lady Finna and Lord Alator but they were always going on about Emrys and the Once and Future King and the great prophecy that had been there since the dawn of time. What a load of tosh! Yes, Merlin was a talented sorcerer, but he was also her little boy. She’d cleaned his bum when he was a baby, wiped his tears, watched his first steps… and his first spells. But he couldn’t possibly be the legendary figure that they claimed. It was just a coincidence. She didn’t want it to be true. It would be better for her boy if he were just ordinary.

“It’s just a myth,” she claimed. “I know how the druids love their myths and stories.”

Gaius raised an eyebrow at her.

That was annoying too. She’d forgotten about Gaius and his damn disapproving eyebrow. All those times when she had been working as his apprentice… every time she’d made a mistake that would be the exact expression that would be on his face. He was older now, but it hadn’t really changed.

“You know that all their myths are based in fact. And the prophecy about Emrys has come from countless seers and prophets. You know all this.”

“He’s my son,” Hunith sighed. “I don’t want this for him. He’s just my little boy.”

“I know. And I am sorry, Hunith. But Merlin and Arthur’s destiny was foretold long before you and I were ever born. All we can do is accept it. And help, if we can.” He was looking past her, watching something.

Hunith turned, hoping it was Merlin or at least one of the servants that she’d sent to search for him. But it was neither. It was Faerova, the green dragon that Merlin had ridden when he and his father had returned to Ealdor. She was flying away from the city, towards them. Hunith’s heart sank when she saw that the dragon was not carrying anyone on her back. For a moment she had hoped that Faerova might have brought Merlin back. But the dragon was alone.

Faerova landed gracefully a short distance away from them, folded her wings and walked a few steps closer. She bowed her head so that she was almost on eye level with them.

Hunith gave the dragon a weary smile and reached out to stroke her gently on her snout. Faerova was such a sweet, friendly dragon, quite unlike Kilgharrah who was just as grumpy as he ever had been.

“Ah, Faerova, where is Merlin?”

She hadn’t expected an answer. Not all dragons lowered themselves to speak to humans unless those humans were dragonlords. Some couldn’t even speak the human tongue. She had not heard Faerova speak her language before and had assumed the dragon had not learned to.

“He is in the arena. With Arthur. You must make great haste or Arthur will die.”

Faerova’s voice was quite deep and gravelling but there were still gentler, more melodic tones in there compared to the way that Kilgharrah spoke. Hunith had no time to ponder that though. She turned to Gaius.

“I’ll saddle up some horses. I haven’t ridden in years.”

“There is no time for a slow beast of burden,” Faerova told her. “I will carry you. Climb up on my back, then Gaius must hand you Excalibur.”

Hunith had ridden Kilgharrah in her youth, always with Balinor there to keep her safe. And there had been the long ride back from Ealdor recently. Again, Balinor had been with her.

“I’ve never ridden a dragon alone…” Hunith began. “I don’t know how.”

“You sit on my back,” Faerova told her. “I will guide you but we must hurry.”

Hunith looked to Gaius for help, but he just urged her on.

“Go! Quickly!” He picked up Excalibur, ready to hand it to her. “Merlin needs you.”

And that was enough to make her forget her fears and climb up onto the dragon’s back then lean down to retrieve the precious sword from Gaius’ outstretched arms.

“Gods protect me,” Hunith muttered, settling Excalibur carefully in front of her on Faerova’s back. “Why didn’t I stay in Ealdor?”

Faerova turned her massive head to look at Hunith.

“Because that is not your destiny and never was, Hunith. Without your son, Arthur can never be king. Without Arthur, Albion’s golden age will never come about. And without you, Arthur will not see another sunrise.”

Hunith realised that she was clearly quite wrong about Faerova. All dragons, it seemed, loved to sprout prophecy. At least Faerova didn’t sound particularly condescending and snarky when she did it.

“Please hold Excalibur tightly while we are flying,” Faerova requested. “If it cuts me, the wound could be grievous and will not heal. That could be fatal for us both.”

Merlin should have created a magical scabbard for the weapon, Hunith thought. The heavy cloth that it was wrapped up in might not be strong enough. She gripped the hilt firmly with one hand, using the other to steady herself against Faerova’s back. Beneath her, the dragon stood up.

“Grip with your legs,” Faerova instructed. “You will not fall.”

“I wish Balinor were here,” Hunith sighed as Faerova spread her wings and began to fly gracefully up into the sky. “He has magic. He could help.”

Far below them Gaius already seemed so very small. He had his hand raised, waving to her, waving her on.

“I’m just a village herbalist,” Hunith whispered. “I can’t fight trained soldiers. I don’t have magic. What can I do?””

“You are the mother of Emrys,” Faerova told her.

As if that were an answer to the question.

\---

The battle was not going well for Arthur.

He’d known that would be the case, it could never be anything else. And yet it was disappointing not to be able to fight at his best with so many people watching. He would be remembered for this, if anything at all. Portrayed as a vanquished loser against a supreme warrior. Just a footnote in history, never even becoming king.

Mordred was a supreme cheat, and cheating never sat well with Arthur. It was impossible to have a fair fight. Every time Arthur tried to attack, he would feel a push from Mordred’s magic trying to unbalance him. After watching Mordred’s defeat of Bedivere, Arthur at least had the small advantage that he was prepared. He tried to keep his feet planted firmly in one spot as much as possible, only moving when he had to. In some ways it made him a target, and it was never something that he would have done in a normal fight. It went against everything he had ever learned about sword fighting. Move, move, and keep moving. That was what Sir Kay had yelled at him when Arthur was just a boy with his first sword. Kay, who had died out there defending his king… Arthur tried not to think of that. Kay who was brave and inspiring and who had taught Arthur so much. That was what Arthur kept at the front of his mind.

The crowd were largely behind Mordred. That was not surprising, they’d voted for him to be their challenger of choice after all. Arthur could hear a small number of his own supporters out there too. Betting on the underdog brought in greater dividends, no doubt. Gwaine would be the first to tell him that.

Mordred swung at him from the left, going for what he thought was the weaker side. But Arthur had been taught better than that and parried easily, using the opportunity to step back. He’d noticed that there was a slight delay between Mordred fighting physically and Mordred using a magic attack. Every time Mordred tried to strike him with his sword, Arthur knew that it was safe to move. But it wasn’t easy because right before the strike there would be the push of magic so strong that Arthur often staggered beneath it. Mordred wasn’t quite good enough to use both at once and in order to keep up the pretence to the crowd he had to appear to be fighting with the sword alone. Arthur knew that Mordred would have killed him by then if the druid had been allowed to use magic freely. It would ruin all the betting though, and gambling was the arena’s most popular activity.

“You can’t win this,” Mordred warned him, and again Arthur felt Mordred’s magic try to shove him over. “Just give up. I’ll make it quick.”

Arthur Pendragon did not do ‘giving up’. He was ready for the swing of Mordred’s sword when it came (never be a predictable fighter was another thing Kay had taught him) and parried the blow before pressing home his brief advantage with an attack of his own.

That was a mistake. Eager to actually get into the fight, Arthur’s natural instinct was to move and attack again. But as he did so Mordred struck out with his magic and Arthur went down. His shield, which had already sustained considerable damage, shattered as it hit the ground.

Wooden shields weren’t the strongest, but Arthur had never seen one do that. Without question Mordred’s magic had been responsible.

“Arthur! Get up!”

That sounded like Percival, but it had come from far off and there was no time to look around for his friend. Arthur scrambled to his feet, managing to keep a grip on his sword and keep a few steps clear of Mordred.

“Clumsy,” Mordred commented. He still had his own shield in place. It was far stronger than Arthur’s wooden one had been. Mordred’s had a metal band around the rim and thick leather giving an extra layer of strength. It was definitely not standard arena equipment.

Arthur and Mordred circled each other slowly, Arthur concentrating more on not overbalancing the next time that his opponent cheated than in attacking again. He stumbled again, just about keeping his balance but in doing so allowed Mordred to strike a blow to his upper left arm. It was only a shallow cut, thankfully, as Arthur twisted away just in time.

“Go for his legs!”

The voice this time sounded like Elyan. Arthur was curious to know where his friends were. They weren’t inside the arena. That space was reserved for himself and Mordred alone. Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off Mordred, not if he wanted to stay alive, but he had circled the other man enough to get an idea of the place. The two of them were alone in there. Mordred didn’t seem to have heard the shouts, but then neither Percival nor Elyan were friends of his so their voices were less likely to attract his attention.

“I can do this quickly,” Mordred offered again. He seemed to think that Arthur would prefer to give up rather than fight. Arthur would fight until his very last breath.

“You’ll have to beat me,” Arthur growled, attempting another strike, this time at Mordred’s ribs. He managed to reach his opponent, seeing a thin trail of blood across Mordred’s midriff where Arthur had cut him. That must have hurt, because Mordred’s next magical attack didn’t even attempt to hide itself. Arthur was thrown onto his back, winded for a moment by the impact of the landing. He barely managed to keep hold of his sword, then a second blast of magic from Mordred ripped it from his hand. The sword flew off to one side, far out of reach.

The crowd roared their disapproval. Most likely it was because of the obviously unfair fight, which would make claiming winnings difficult, rather than much actual support of Arthur. There were even a few boos.

Mordred stood over him, his sword at Arthur’s throat. It was over. Mordred pulled off his helmet and flung it aside, grinning down at his victim.

“I’m guessing that the king won’t be sparing you,” he said.

Arthur tried to get up, but found Mordred’s magic was holding him down. It felt similar to what Morgause did to people. He could see why his father had hated magic users so. But Arthur thought of Merlin, and of Morgana. All magic users were not the same and he did not hate them. He turned his head to look up at the royal balcony. If he was to die then at least he would see the face of one of the people he loved, even though it was from a distance.

It was not Morgana that he saw.

A dragon was approaching from that side of the arena. It had the sun behind it which made it difficult to see, but it was definitely coming down into the arena itself. The crowd started to spot it and shouted, some of them with fear, some with excitement. Dragons were supposed to be part of the entertainment that day, after all.

It was the green dragon that he had seen earlier, the one that Mordred had claimed was a sign. On its back was now a rider. For a moment Arthur hoped that it might be Merlin’s father, back just in time. But it was a dark-haired woman, probably in her late thirties or early forties, whom Arthur had never seen before. She looked grim and determined as her dragon flew low into the arena. Something fell from the dragon’s back and landed on the arena floor, but nobody was looking at whatever that was. For in the woman’s hand now, held up for all to see was the most exquisitely perfect sword that Arthur had ever set eyes on.

He knew it for what it was. Merlin had described it perfectly.

“Excalibur…” Arthur breathed.

Mordred, like everyone else, was momentarily distracted. Arthur took the opportunity to escape, sliding to one side and then scrambling to his feet. Mordred cursed at him but was still more interested in the dragon. Arthur, after all, would be easy to defeat again.

“Arthur Pendragon!” the woman called, raising the sword up above her head.

It glinted in the sun. Beautiful. Magnificent. His.

Arthur lifted his right hand.

The woman threw Excalibur towards him. She didn’t look particularly strong, yet the sword flew through the air an impossible distance, heading straight for him and spinning unnaturally as it came through the air – until the hilt landed easily in his outstretched hand. Arthur didn’t even feel an impact when it hit.

The sword was perfect. He swung it experimentally, getting used to the weight and the balance. But it had been made for him and him alone and already it felt as if it were part of him.

The dragon rose up again to much cheering from the crowd who were now convinced it was part of the show. Arthur could hear Cenred raging from his viewpoint up on the balcony, shouting orders to his men.

On the other side of the arena a second dragon was rising up above the walls. This one was black and there was a bald, muscular man on its back. A quick glance told Arthur that was not Balinor, not unless he’d shaved every hair from his head.

The woman on the green dragon seemed to be searching the arena for something. Merlin, Arthur guessed. The dragonlords would want their kin back. Arthur wanted him back too. But the black dragon gave a ferocious roar, warning the green of its presence. The green dragon and its rider immediately turned tail and fled, closely pursued by the black.

Arthur fervently hoped the woman and her mount would be safe. There was nothing he could do for her, though, and needed to win his own battle first. And then he could find Merlin. He raised Excalibur in front of him, preparing to fight again.

“Kill him!” Cenred roared from the balcony. “Kill him!”

Arthur had a feeling that he wasn’t going to get on with his new brother-in-law.

Mordred actually gave a small bow to the royal box, then turned on Arthur again. But something was different. Mordred’s eyes glowed gold, and Arthur waited to be pummelled by Mordred’s magic once again, but nothing happened.

Mordred frowned, then his eyes glowed again, and again. Arthur saw the moment that realisation dawned.

“That’s right, your magic is powerless,” Arthur told him. “It will have to be a fair fight after all. Shall we begin?”

Mordred gave a furious roar, and charged at him. It looked for a moment as if Mordred was going to run him through. That was definitely the intention. But Arthur parried the blow easily, stepping back and following through with a single slice across Mordred’s chest as the man passed.

That was all it took. Mordred dropped to his knees, blood pouring from the wound. There was a brief look of surprise on Mordred’s face, then he collapsed face down on the arena floor, blood spreading in a pool around him as he died.

Arthur raised Excalibur above his head, paying tribute to the crowd even though few of them had been on his side for most of the fight. They were largely cheering him now.

“No!”

Cenred was livid. Arthur could hear him shouting orders again, though for the most part the crowd were drowning him out. The black dragon had not returned, which had to be a good sign for the green, but there was movement around the edges of the arena. Workers had come out and were hastily erecting the bars that normally were used to protect the audience from the wyverns.

Arthur looked around the arena wondering what his best course of action would be. Morgana was up on the balcony but to reach her he would have to climb the long flight of stairs and would be an easy target, magical sword or no magical sword. If the wyverns were being brought in then there was a good chance that their intended victims would also arrive. A large rectangular hole had appeared in the arena floor right in the very centre. Arthur ran across to look inside. It was either going to be his friends, or the wyverns. Though the wyverns were usually brought in through one of the gates, then released. Sure enough, when he looked down into the pit, he saw Merlin, Ellie and Gwen looking up at him.

“Arthur!” Merlin called, waving. As if Arthur didn’t know it was him or something.

Arthur smiled, and held up Excalibur for him to see. Merlin gaped at it for a moment.

“You got it! How?”

“A woman on a dragon flew in and… never mind, it would take too long to explain.”

“Nice sword!” Ellie called.

That alerted him to another problem. There were three of them coming up, and none of them were highly trained fighters, Arthur realised. There were two swords discarded in the field – his own from the arena, and Mordred’s. He was going to have to protect them as best he could. Princess Elena, from what he recalled of her, was quite a good swordswoman but would have been out of practice. He’d give her Mordred’s sword, definitely. Gwen was an unknown quantity, although her brother might have inspired her to take up the sword. Merlin was definitely useless. The swords would be going to the two ladies.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he called down, ignoring the groans that resulted in. He ran over to collect the fallen swords before anyone thought to take them, then brought the weapons back to the centre.

The platform was moving.

Arthur looked around and realised that the barriers had all gone up. They looked a little ramshackle and carelessly done, but the workers were already hurrying away from the arena floor to a place of safety. Behind one of the gates he could see the wyverns with their handlers. The creatures were each locked in a single small cage. He had seen this before, when the Camelot citizens had been massacred. The gate was being opened, the cages would be pushed in and opened, then the handlers would run back inside the gate before the wyverns had time to get out and attack them. Later the creatures would be captured with nets. That was part of the spectacle as well.

The platform reached the arena floor and stopped. Merlin and Ellie both rushed to hug him. Gwen didn’t know him as well and stood awkwardly for a moment then Merlin pulled her in too.

“We’re all in this together,” he assured her as they broke apart.

“We are, and we can survive this,” Arthur assured them all, handing the swords to Ellie and Gwen. “Stay behind me, make ourselves a single target that’s difficult to reach. They aren’t used to victims that fight back.”

“ELLIE!”

Gwaine’s roar of distress rang out across the arena. Arthur looked over to the gladiator’s gate. He could see their friends now. Gwaine was rattling on the bars of the gate, trying to get through. On the opposite side of the arena, the wyvern cages were being brought out. Arthur looked at them for a moment, then back at the group of gladiators behind the gate. And then he realised what would happen. The wyverns would be released. The four of them would stand together and fight, then the gladiator gate would open and their friends and loved ones would race across the arena to help them. They’d all be easy pickings for the creatures.

“To the gate!” he yelled to his companions. All four of them ran across the arena, towards the gate where Gwaine and the others were waiting.

“Open the gate!” Gwaine was yelling. Percival was pushing against it with all his might, the others joining in. It wasn’t built to withstand that kind of pressure – people were normally desperate to get out of the arena not back in.

Slowly the heavy bar that held it in place began to slide back. Arthur supposed that it was probably done earlier than intended before Percival and the others flattened the gate.

Up on his platform, Kanen had started to speak.

“For our next spectacle, to celebrate the wedding of our beloved king, we have an even more glorious battle. Seven of our finest gladiators, including Arthur Pendragon whom you’ve all just enjoyed in his… ah… _surprising_ victory, will all take on our wyverns in a glorious battle to the death!”

The cheers that followed the announcement were not surprising.

“You will see that we have some additional participants,” Kanen continued. “Our beloved queen’s own maid was found to be conspiring against her, doubtless out of jealousy. She was aided by her friend, and they both find themselves here today for that reason. And finally, we have a trickster and murderer who has fashioned himself as a dragonlord! The young man before you is most certainly not Lord Balinor’s son. He is an escaped slave who murdered his master, the renowned physician Edwin Muir, and then tricked his way into Lord Balinor’s affection. Lord Orn informed us of this gross crime.”

There was more shouting and cheering. The gate opened and five of the six gladiators rushed through. Gwaine ran straight to Ellie and embraced her, whilst Elyan and Lancelot ran to Gwen. Leon and Galahad went to Arthur and Merlin. Percival hadn’t emerged.

“Stay together!” Arthur ordered. He looked at the men who had joined him. “No weapons?”

Leon shook his head. “We’ve been locked up all night, then been out here since this started. Arthur, what happened with the dragon and the sword?”

“It was amazing!” Galahad enthused.

“I have friends who are sorcerers,” Arthur told them, remembering his father’s advice. It was proving wise now.

“If only I had my magic,” Merlin sighed, gazing miserably at the iron cuffs on his wrists.

“Percival!” Elyan yelled suddenly.

The muscular gladiator was coming through the rapidly closing gate with an armful of swords.

“Cedric,” he explained as he approached them. “He’s furious at the thought of losing all his best fighters.”

“Or possibly he saw Arthur with that sword and is making sure he’s on the right side,” Elyan mused.

Kanen had continued with his speech, telling the audience about how rare it was to survive a battle with a wyvern, and how if Merlin was a true dragonlord then he would be able to drive them off.

“We’ll see how he does with that!” Kanen added and his audience roared with laughter.

“Dragonlords don’t come into their powers until their parent dies,” Merlin explained. “So even if I had my magic I probably wouldn’t be able to prove anything. Unless what Dagr and Ebor said is true and my father has been killed.”

Arthur sympathetically put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Don’t even think about that,” he advised. “Concentrate on staying alive.”

Across on the other side of the arena, the cages were being opened. As the handlers made a run for it, the wyverns began to make their way out, sniffing the air hungrily.

“Keep together,” Arthur warned. “In a circle. Don’t make an easy target.”

He raised Excalibur, and waited for the wyverns to attack.

\---

Hunith had never flown so fast in her life.

When she had been younger, Balinor had tried to impress her with journeys on Kilgharrah’s back. But that dragon was older, larger and just not as quick as Faerova. The young green dragon raced through the skies, and Hunith just clung on.

She didn’t dare look back. For one thing it would mean moving, and she was certain that if she moved then she would fall. Instead she kept her head down, sheltered a little from the wind by Faerova’s neck and the warmth of her body. She could hear the beat of Aesha’s wings behind her. The black dragon was right on their tail.

Orn was a traitor. He had never been completely trusted by the other dragonlords, but this proved it once and for all. They had been right not to take him to Deira, and right not to trust him with any of their plans.

The worst thing of all was that Orn’s treachery to the other dragonlords meant that she could not help her son. She had to just pray that Arthur would be victorious now that he had Excalibur, and that he would protect Merlin for her.

“Hunith,” Faerova breathed.

It was the first time that the dragon had spoken since they’d fled the arena. There had been much instruction on what she needed to do with Excalibur, but nothing since then.

“Look up.”

On the horizon, flying towards Essetir, flying towards _her_, were three dragons.

And Kilgharrah was the one leading the way.

\---

The wyverns were terrifying.

Their cries were painful to listen to. There were four of the creatures, and as soon as they had crawled out of their cages they had flown straight over to attack the group inside the arena.

Merlin stood in the centre of the circle. Percival had brought swords for the gladiators, but nothing for Merlin. It had been too late when he’d realised they were one short. Merlin wasn’t much good with swords anyway. Still, he felt useless.

The wyverns were probably confused, finding prey that fought back. Arthur in particular was doing a great deal of damage. Merlin watched him attack the creatures again and again. One of the wyverns was bleeding badly. Merlin wondered at just what point they might turn on one of their own, and whether it would need to be dead.

The dragon and its rider had not returned, which was disappointing. Merlin had hoped that it was Finna and his father was not far behind. But so far there had been no sign.

A wyvern dived at Gwaine, and Ellie slashed at it, managing to strike its foot. It screamed at her and flew back a little way. Percival and Leon, having a height advantage over the rest of them, had joined forces against another one. But it was Galahad who managed to hit it when it swerved to avoid the pair of them.

“First blood to the baby knight!” Gwaine called.

Galahad wisely ignored him.

Suddenly there was a blur of white, and something dive-bombed the centre of the circle. Several of the knights looked round, concerned, then saw what it was. Aithusa was hovering in front of Merlin, trilling happily at finding him.

“She needs to get out of here!” Percival warned. “She’s just a mouthful to them!”

Merlin tried. He stretched out his hands, trying to shoo Aithusa away.

“Go! Go home! It’s dangerous here!”

Aithusa squawked angrily at him then landed at his feet. She looked up at him curiously, tilting her head from side to side, as if assessing what was different about him.

Overhead the wyverns were still attacking. One almost got Ellie, only Elyan’s quick reflexes saved her.

“Go!” Merlin ordered again. But he didn’t have his magic, and he wasn’t yet a dragonlord either. Aithusa just stared at him. And then she breathed in, and exhaled.

Her breath was a fine, pale mist. Not fire, she wasn’t producing that yet.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked, both fondly and sadly. He loved that little dragon. To see her die along with the rest of his friends was just unbearable.

Aithusa breathed out a second time. And Merlin stopped wondering what she was doing because he knew.

“Clever girl,” he whispered. “Oh you clever, clever girl. You watched Morgause, didn’t you?”

Aithusa hopped up and down. Above them the wyverns were still screaming.

Merlin could feel his magic returning.

It wasn’t overwhelming like it had been when Morgause had done it. The cuffs were still in place and perhaps that made a difference. And it had only been away for less than a day. It was nothing like the previous occasion.

One of the wyverns went for Leon again. It was the injured one. Arthur stabbed at it with Excalibur and caught it again. This time it went down, staggering away from the group to collapse a short distance off.

And that answered the question of at which point did they turn on one another.

Suddenly it was a wyverns who was a target. The remaining three all dived at their fallen comrade, turning their back on their original prey and going for the weak, easy one instead. The one that couldn't fight back.

Aithusa flew off while they were distracted, crowing proudly. Merlin hoped she was going home, or at least to hide somewhere safe, but you never knew with Aithusa. She was amazing.

Meanwhile, Arthur was creeping towards the wyverns, Excalibur held in front of him. The creatures were busy feeding, careless because despite what had just happened they were not used to being attacked. Perhaps their meals tried to defend themselves, but no wyvern fodder had ever sneaked up on them before. So much for Arthur ordering the group to stay together, Merlin thought. Typical. One rule for everyone else…

Merlin ran to Arthur’s side. Arthur glanced round, saw Merlin and immediately started gesturing for him to go back to the others. Merlin shook his head, lifted his hand and allowed a few small magical sparks to appear. Arthur regarded it for a split second, then grinned triumphantly.

“Oh, those giant flying lizards are done for!” he laughed, not even bothering to be quiet. “Merlin, with me!”

And they rushed forward, into a battle that they knew they could win. Together.

\---

Morgana sat up on the royal balcony, watching.

She had very little choice, Morgause had compelled her to sit there as soon as they had arrived. She was able to move her hands, but she couldn’t speak and was unable to get up. Worse, she was married to Cenred now, and that magical compulsion was going to be used for unspeakable things later.

At first Morgana had wished that she could fling herself over the balcony and join Arthur in his fate. But then there had been the dragon, and the sword, and suddenly Arthur had emerged victorious. She had wanted to stand up and cheer him, but that was impossible. And then there had been the wyverns, and dear Gwen out there too. She was so proud of Gwen, wielding a sword as well as any of those men.

Merlin and Arthur were almost casually dealing with the wyverns. It was a joy to behold, almost as good as watching Cenred turning all sorts of shades of purple while watching them. Morgause though, was watching them intently. Merlin in particular was holding her interest. She did not look any happier than Cenred. But she was dangerous. She’d bound Merlin’s magic twice now. And Morgana’s as well, though Merlin’s skills were clearly a lot more advanced than hers.

Down in the arena Merlin was shooting fireballs at the wyverns, driving them towards Arthur one at a time. Soon enough there was only one left and it flew off, shrieking angrily, blood trailing from its underside. It perched on the top of the arena, making no move to attack again.

Morgana watched as the fighters in the arena celebrated their victory. The crowd were screaming their approval, she could hear calls for Arthur and Merlin loud amongst them.

Ignored and forgotten, she sat there basking in the victory. She still wanted to be over that balcony, but now it was to join with the people she cared for, especially if they were now going to fight their way out. But soon enough Morgause and Cenred were going to realise that they still had one last thing that they could use to halt Arthur in his tracks.

And that was her.

A gentle chittering noise beside her made her glance round as best she could with the compulsion. There was Aithusa, sitting on the top of Morgana’s throne. Nobody had noticed her yet.

Morgana had seen what had happened to Merlin. She’d seen what Aithusa did. Unable to speak, still Morgana held out her hands to the little dragon. It was a silent plea. She just hoped that Aithusa would understand it.

\---

Arthur held up his sword in victory, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd. Merlin was simply standing there because he hadn’t got a clue about pleasing a mob. So Arthur grabbed Merlin’s hand and held that up too, forcing him to acknowledge the crowd too. The cheering definitely increased.

It was not coming from the royal balcony, however. Cenred was beside himself with rage, shouting orders to his guards, to the people in Kanen’s balcony below… anyone he could think of. It was actually quite amusing.

“He’s not a very good king, is he?” Galahad commented, watching Cenred curiously. “How did he ever get to power?”

Merlin nodded towards the balcony. “Morgause,” he said. “She’s the power.”

Morgause, as if sensing that she was being discussed, got to her feet. She touched Cenred’s arm, spoke a few words to him, then he sat back down. He still looked livid, but was now keeping his eyes on Morgause.

“Arthur Pendragon,” Morgause called down. “I will give you one chance to surrender. If you do not, then the next battle in this arena will be between myself and anyone who cares to stand against me. What say you?”

“I say bring it on,” Gwaine muttered. “Our sorcerer’s just as good as you.”

Arthur wasn’t entirely convinced of that, after all Morgause had managed to bind Merlin’s magic twice. However, once had been when he was a lot younger, and the other time had been an ambush.

“I’m not surrendering,” Leon told him, Galahad nodding agreement.

“If anyone wants to make a run for it we’ll cover you,” Arthur offered. He was met by a chorus of refusals.

“We’re all with you,” Elyan told him.

“We’re fighting her,” Merlin confirmed.

Arthur didn’t think he’d ever felt so strong as he did then, buoyed up by his friends’ confidence.

“We will not surrender,” he told Morgause.

Morgause raised an eyebrow.

“Well then you will die,” she promised. And with that her eyes flashed gold, she raised her hands, and fireballs started raining down on them.

Arthur found immediately that he could defend himself from them with Excalibur, striking as many as he could away. Merlin barely hesitated, stretching out his hand and muttering words in a language that Arthur had never heard. A magical shield went up in front of them all and the fireballs started bouncing off it harmlessly, expiring in the dust.

Morgause looked briefly shocked, then recovered and started sending lightning rods instead. Merlin’s shield shimmered but held. Arthur could see Merlin was starting to show strain though. He wondered how long his lover would be able to hold Morgause back.

“I need to fight back,” Merlin gasped. “I can’t do that and hold this too.”

“I’ll hold them off,” Arthur offered. “Tell me when.”

“Get behind Arthur,” Merlin ordered their friends. He didn’t look back, trusting that they would. “Now, Arthur!”

The shield went down and suddenly Arthur found himself fighting for his life. The bolts came thick and fast and it was all he could do to catch them. But Excalibur seemed to almost act on its own at times, and every single one was batted away.

And then, suddenly they stopped. The sky was full of fire and brimstone. The fire was coming from Merlin, shooting a stream of fire from his hands at Morgause who was staggering beneath the onslaught. Arthur could hear Cenred yelling at her to protect him. The coward.

“Morgana’s up there,” Arthur warned Merlin. “Don’t hit her.”

Merlin nodded grimly, but kept going, attacking Morgause relentlessly. Amazingly, miraculously, he seemed to be getting the better of her. And then suddenly she crouched down, perhaps thinking that the balcony front wall would briefly protect her. It didn’t. Because Merlin was aiming at her he hit the balcony instead. The front of it came away in the blast, and part of the floor. Morgause fell through, her body hitting the arena floor below. She didn’t move.

Arthur and Merlin both ran forward, careful for any trickery. But when he rolled Morgause over, Arthur saw her sightless eyes and knew the truth.

“She’s dead.”

Cenred had only ever held power because of her. Arthur looked up to the royal balcony, intending to go up and fight him.

It was on fire.

“Morgana!”

Merlin called after him, but Arthur ignored that. The stairs were still intact, mostly at least, and he made his way up. All around him people were running and scrambling to get away. Nobody else was trying to get up to the balcony.

The fire was right in the centre of the balcony. The steps, he knew, came up on the opposite side to where Morgana had been sitting, trapped. He was going to have to get through it. But he would. He wasn’t going to abandon her.

Merlin was still down on the arena floor. As Arthur turned a corner on the stairway he saw that Merlin was still casting spells, busy extinguishing the fire instead now. It had stopped by the time Arthur got to the top. But the fire had never been Arthur’s main concern.

Cenred had indeed been trapped by the fire. He was alone up there, save for Morgana.

“Arthur!” she called, waving to him, waving to show that she was unharmed. But Cenred was right there beside her, coward that he was, a sword in his hand. She was going to be his shield, that much was obvious.

“Stay where you are,” Cenred warned. He took a step closer to Morgana, then stopped. Her eyes were glowing gold with magic.

“I’d keep away if I were you,” Arthur warned.

It would be her own magic returning to her after being bound, Arthur knew from seeing Merlin. He wasn’t sure whether Cenred would have realised that though. All Cenred would see would be a woman who hated him with her magic restored. At her shoulder, little Aithusa was hissing angrily. Arthur wasn’t sure the small dragon could do much harm but if he were Cenred he wouldn’t take any chances.

“You think you’ve won,” Cenred snarled. “She’s just a seer.” He turned, swinging back his sword, ready to strike.

Morgana shoved Cenred with all the hate and anger and fear that must have been building up inside her over the past few weeks. He fell, just as Morgause had, although he lay there in the dust moaning in pain.

“Arthur!” Merlin appeared at the top of the stairs behind him. Arthur looked back, then saw the row of dead kings behind Merlin. He looked away quickly. It wasn’t something he wanted to remember. They would all be given the funerals that they deserved, worthy of their status in life.

“Merlin, can you fix this?” Arthur asked, indicating the damage. He needed to get to Morgana.

Merlin was quick to oblige, sealing the floor so that Morgana could run across and hug her brother.

“Arthur! Thank the gods!”

“Merlin! Arthur!”

A shout from Leon below alerted them to a new problem.

The last remaining wyvern, seeing easy prey, suddenly swooped down on the dying king below, picking him up and carrying him off. Cenred gave a scream of agony as the talons dug in, but then was abruptly silent and still.

Merlin moved to attack the creature again but Arthur held up a hand to stop him.

“No, Merlin. Leave it. Cenred’s already dead. And it’s justice for the countless innocents that he condemned to die in that way.”

Merlin gazed after the wyvern, watching it vanish into the distance.

“So what happens now?” Morgana asked.

“Well, you’re queen here,” Arthur smiled. “I don’t see why that should change.”

“I hear Camelot is willing to make a peace treaty,” Morgana laughed. “Caerleon too. And Gawant by the looks of it,” she waved over the balcony to Ellie, who had her arms around Gwaine, beaming happily.

“And Merlin’s father may have made a treaty with Deira,” Arthur noted. “If he made it.” He looked around, then saw Merlin down on his knees. He seemed to be cleaning something with the edge of his shirt. “Merlin what are you doing?”

Merlin stood up, holding something out. It was Cenred’s fallen crown.

“We can hold a proper coronation back at Camelot,” Morgana said gently. “Sit on the throne, Arthur. Merlin, you should do this.”

Arthur didn’t protest it. As he sat down, Morgana on the throne beside him, five dragons appeared in the sky, heading towards the arena. One, the black one that had chased off his green saviour, was now riderless. He was pleased to see the lady on the green dragon had survived. Merlin gazed at them all, evidently delighted to see his father was back.

“Who’s the lady on the green?” Arthur asked.

Merlin grinned at him. “That’s my mother. You can meet her properly later. She’s amazing.”

Arthur would agree with that.

Percival and Leon had found their way up onto the balcony that Kanen liked to do his speeches from. Unsurprisingly, Kanen was nowhere to be seen. Arthur supposed that at that moment there would be quite a few people fleeing Essetir.

Merlin stood beside Arthur, the crown in his hands. Carefully, reverently, he lowered it onto Arthur’s head.

“Long live King Arthur!” Leon yelled.

The crowd, those who had not fled in a panic, all cheered back.

“Long live the king!”

And the sound echoed around the arena.

Arthur looked up at Merlin’s proud face. And smiled.

\-------

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ART: Gladiator](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21189392) by [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72)


End file.
